


The Hidden, Inward Weights

by kupfermaske



Series: Niwenian Anecdotes [1]
Category: Ori and the Will of the Wisps
Genre: Angst, Breakfast, Comfort, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Family, Family Feels, Fire, Fireplaces, Flashbacks, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Healing, Hope, Lies, Light Angst, Lunch, Memories, Minor Character(s), Minor Injuries, Minor Original Character(s), Old Friends, Opher is a madlad, Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Platonic Relationships, Post-Canon, Rain, Relationship(s), Secrets, Seir gets whats coming, Shriek but mentioned in passing, Sibling Love, Thunderstorms, Veral being a sassy cook is my headcanon for some reason, Worldbuilding, by having them operate a wholesome organized crime scheme, i also make several characters chaotic good, its technically not a crime but it be sHaDy, that was supposed to be one tag but it got too long so i had to split it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:00:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 53,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23458987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kupfermaske/pseuds/kupfermaske
Summary: Keeping a secret that needs telling is a great burden to one's soul; an unseen plague which ravages the heart with each beat.The other symptoms that follow, however, become harder to hide every day.
Relationships: Gumo and Naru, Ku and Gumo, Ku and Naru, Ku and Naru and Gumo
Series: Niwenian Anecdotes [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1687588
Comments: 196
Kudos: 80





	1. Symmetry

**Author's Note:**

> Not gonna lie though, this is personal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mood Setter: Symmetry by SYML
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eTsuZQSPc0I

What do the following three claims share in common?

"Ku needs help."

"No-one living in the Wellspring Glades is a mind-reader."

And lastly;

"Holding stones with fully outstretched hands grows harder to do the longer one does it." 

Fantastical abilities aside, it's easier to see if something is wrong with someone when one is part of a loving, tight-knit community. This; and everyone in the glades has noticed a certain owlet not doing too well recently. Furthermore, perhaps most troubling amongst this string of events...

Ku had tried to hide that concerning fact. 

But some secrets can only stay secret for so long. 

Thus raises the following questions:

What is she not telling them? _Why_ hasn't she told them?

Doesn’t she trust them?

And how had they not noticed this sooner?

Gumo intends to find answers for his own sake; the sake of others and more importantly; hers.

  
  
  


\- - -

  
  
  


_It's been two weeks since Ori embraced the light._

The land had since been saved, the Decay had stopped spreading and Niwen started anew as each of its citizens -- old and new -- began their individual, first forays into a young, golden age.

That first week, Ori's family settled in the Wellspring Glades.

They had quickly gotten to work from day one. Gumo started on their new home with Grom’s handy assistance, the Gumon-Gorlek duo finding brotherly kinship between themselves just as quickly as they constructed the house; which took all but a day with their shared callings in building work.

Naru meanwhile found new close friends via a panicked introduction. 

It involved the mother eating beautiful, fragrant yet deadly poisonous fruit that sent chef Veral and gardener Tuley running over to her, alarmed expressions on their pale, bushy-bearded faces. But as it turned out, only Naru and her kind are immune to the poison within, the mother further explaining that she had eaten them as a normal foodstuff back in Nibel. And after a collective sigh of relief, names were good-naturedly exchanged. 

As for Ku, nothing too special had seemed to happen to her. She had busied herself, put on a smile, got to work and mingled with all the other glades folk; just like everyone else.

She found sticks and thatch for their roof, fanned the canteen's flames with her wings, gathered food for all the glades' inhabitants with Tuley just outside the border, and played games with the younger Moki that week. 

And the family that same first week, of course, had visited Ori’s sapling at least once daily. Regardless of the time in which they would often lose track of, they would fondly reminisce and joke of old, Nibellian life as if Ori had never left.

Ori _was_ still there, albeit in a new, sprouting form. He had further grown a ton by the week's end as well, to the subdued amazement of his family.

So life was full of hope and wonder; full of reflective gratitude; full of vigour for each new, passing day. Ori had given everyone in the land a wonderful new start; a blank stone wall for all to etch their stories onto. Further, he had connected their separate realms through his valiant, selfless sacrifice, making their newly shared world just a little bigger.

New, Niwenian life was grand for all.

Or, well; it was.

It had started seemingly harmless enough; the owlet sleeping in as opposed to rising with Naru and Gumo at the same time as she normally did. This was easily dismissed that first morning beginning the second week, though.

She was still young, and she had done a lot last week, so she ought to sleep a lot; was what Gumo and Naru had said. She'd return to normal eventually; but for now, she should relax; go out, play with the other young and snooze under the sun. She’d be alright. She was alright.

So the first noon came and Ku woke by herself in her nest as Naru and Gumo had earlier already gone out and about, working in the glades with their new friends. Then evening came, Ku returning from a Moki playgroup just as Naru and Gumo returned as well, then night came and went.

The second day came and Ku rose late again to a hearty brunch. This time, she helped around the glades a bit with Gumo and Naru. Afterwards, the owlet played outside till late evening, also like yesterday. Then night came; went.

But on the third late afternoon when her heavy eyebags had remained along with her ruffled feathers, and Ku had woken even _later_ than the previous two days, Naru and Gumo grew worried for the owlet. Was she having trouble sleeping? they wondered.

Furthermore, later that evening they -- Gumo and Naru, again -- realized Ku had become quieter; more lost in thought as she kept to herself at dinnertime, the owlet sitting on one of the canteen's corner seats. She also had only lightly picked at her bowl of worms whilst everyone else around her conversed and ate to their stomach’s content. 

That had been unlike her. She always joined a discussion with open-book chirping, and she always dug into her worms with gusto.

Something was, indeed, wrong. Something was bothering her.

So later that night, after climbing to the second floor where Ku’s room had been built, Naru entered the owlet's loft after gently knocking on the open doorframe. Mother had decided to bring it up with her, as all worried mothers would.

“How are you doing, Ku?" Naru had asked with a warm, sleepy smile.

Ku answered with a nod, followed by a yawn whilst folding her wings against her sides.

“That’s good, that’s good,” Naru had said, nodding with her. 

Then she said, her face becoming a touch more serious: “But...you’ve also been waking up late, Ku. For three days now. You’re quieter than normal, too. Have you been eating alright…?”

On her soft straw nest across the loft, Ku looked down as Naru trailed off.

_Perhaps not the best approach_ , Naru thought to herself, blaming her sleepiness which shouldn’t have been an excuse.

“Is everything okay?” Naru instead asked as she then crossed the threshold.

Trying to be as quiet as possible, the floorboards beneath her feet creaked softly as she stepped over to her, but they otherwise held her weight. Gumo and Grom had skilfully seen to that, and hanging above them was a small lantern that dimly lit the room. Upon reaching the nest, Naru reached over and tenderly began stroking Ku’s feathered head, the top of Mother’s dark purple rotundity brushing gently against Ku’s bed. 

The owlet couldn’t resist. How could she? She leaned into her touch, Ku closing her eyes and cooing softly. Naru meanwhile let out a slow, inaudible sigh through her nostrils, slightly tilting her head to one side as she continued her affectionate gestures in silence. 

Ku's feathers were more frayed at the fringes, Naru noticed. But they were soft to the touch regardless.

“You can tell me anything, you know,” Naru whispered after a while had passed. “Only you and Mama are here.”

Ku slowly opened her eyes, half-lidded; flame-coloured irises emerging from coal-black eyelids as her head continued to be stroked. The owlet took in a deep breath, looked down at the straw spread around her again, then said; just above a whisper, that she had lots to think about lately. She said it had been keeping her up those past three nights.

“What is so much there to think of?” Naru had asked, softly.

Ku didn’t answer that question right away. She instead shrugged out of Naru’s touch. And as she sank herself deeper into her nest, the straw underneath her rustling and crunching faintly as she did, Ku closed her downcast eyes once more. She paused, taking another, this time shaky, breath, followed by a trembling exhale. Her folded wings shivered against her sides. She then stilled herself.

Ku said, slowly, that there were some things she could not forget; like getting crushed by a bird of stone.

Unbeknownst to Ku, Naru had been reaching for her again as she gave her answer. But when the owlet said those last few words, Naru’s hand faltered an inch away from touching her, stopping in place in the air with her fingers slightly, gingerly curling up. She almost fully withdrew her hand.

Thin, pale rays of moonlight filtered in through the closed window shutters as Naru stood in front of Ku in uneasy silence, a low, passing breeze outside rustling nearby tree branches whilst a mother was stunned by her child's response. 

It had been a heavy answer; a reluctant reply given to her by someone who should never have had to have given it. 

This also had been new information. She, along with Gumo, had already heard of Shriek and what she had tried to do to Niwen; to Ori. They also knew that she had hurt Ku, but the Moki had been unwilling to answer on how she did it. It was simply too terrible; nor did they have the right to tell. That alone was up to Ku. 

They had a reputation for being everywhere at any given time, but they also respected one’s privacy.

Naru hadn't been very keen on finding out, either, but it had come up as a filler question from the mother; a sound to fill the silence when they reached that point in the Mokis’ testaments of when Ori was still a Spirit Guardian.

\- - -

It took a little while, but Naru reached out once more. 

She firstly rubbed Ku's head again. The owlet didn't resist but otherwise didn't react.

But taking this as a good sign, Naru scooped her up and hugged her, rocking and nestling the owlet oh so gently within her warm, nurturing embrace. She started to hum a dulcet melody, the lantern above them flickering as the little tongue of flame burned within its glass confines, emanating a soft light that shone on them, dim orange dappled against dark-coloured forms.

Then Ku, after yet another while, unfurled her wings. She slowly hugged back as Naru sang her rich, warbling lullaby; the mother's cradling motions stirring within the owlet a sense of loving security.

She was safe. She was here. Mama was here.

And Ku began to cry, her soft, sobbing coos muffled against Naru's snug chest as she shed warm tears of both pain and relief. Ku burrowed her head deeper into Naru’s embrace, soon hugging as tightly as her wings would allow. Naru returned the gesture, lightly squeezing her child in her arms.

"Oh, my child, my child...I'm here, I'm here…"

They stayed like that for a while; a loving mother with her beloved child, a simple yet most profound truth lit by dim, warm lantern light and songs in the fold of a quiet night, on the second floor of their new home, in a new world; a new life.

And just as Ku gently slipped from the last vestiges of consciousness that same quiet night, she could have sworn that Naru, too, sniffled behind her back as she was rocked to sleep, a gentle hand tenderly stroking the back of her head.

For the first time in three nights, Ku slept peacefully; without fear of dark, recurring dreams.

On the afternoon the following day, Gumo and Naru took her to the glades' healing well. The process thereafter eliminated her eyebags, sharply smoothened her feathers, and the owlet felt much better. She shivered a little as she stretched her renewed, winged form, to the relief of everyone there at the time.

And on the twilight the day after, after returning from visiting Ori daily as they had done since last week, Tuley, Veral and Grom swung by.

The gardener and the cook gave two bottles of fragrant, sleep-inducing perfume, explaining that Ku could pop one open before bed. As for Grom, he gave Ku a plush toy of what looked like a life-sized Moki child; put together by a charmingly inelegant patchwork arrangement, stitchwork just as clumsy, and different coloured beads for eyes.

The old Gorlek's big fingers also had telltale bandages wrapped around them as he tried to quickly pass on the doll, then tried to play it down when Veral pointed it out. He'd always worked with sturdy hammers and tough nails, not thin needles and fine threads, said the Gorlek in his defence, crossing his arms though unable to wipe the proud smirk off his heavily-maned face.

The owlet accepted the presents along with Gumo and Naru's grateful, laughing thanks.

Ku indeed used the perfume that night, and it smelled delightful; downy anverdel scents nuanced with hints of earthy ambertog fruit, delicate serosder petals, silky gesa herb and mellow mellubedi tree gum. Naru and Gumo caught several whiffs as it faintly wafted down from the owlet's loft, causing their nerves to slowly unwind after a long day. Seems like Veral can whip up other things aside from food.

And Ku used the doll, having something warm and soft to snuggle with since…

Since…

… 

No. She wouldn't think of that. 

She would try not to.

Most importantly, however, Ku had finally fallen asleep; at a good time that night and soundly so, with pleasant dreams of an older life. The same had happened the following night; the last night of the second week, where Ku slept just as peacefully.

Things had seemed to be looking up for the owlet, after an inwardly turbulent series of either sleepless or fitful nights. Ku had been reassured that everyone cared for her, and _would_ care for her, had she any qualms. She would, then, do the same for all of them. She would care for them, as best she could.

And as the third week dawned upon them… 

Came an unforeseen arrival.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're interested in decoding anagrams, why don't you give a go with Veral's choice of ingredients as an extra activity after all that feeling? (I hope.)
> 
> Or use an online decoder. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Also gasp, an original character?
> 
> All I can say and promise is this: it won't be self-insert.
> 
> Mood Setter: Safe and Sound by T. Swift ft. The Civil Wars
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RzhAS_GnJIc


	2. Golden Joinery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Memories are powerful things.
> 
> Good ones set souls free, whilst bad ones clot the wings of innocent doves like thick, black ash.
> 
> What truly matters at that point is whether if the dove can muster the strength to fly again -- the added weight included.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leitmotif: "Like The Dawn" by The Oh Hellos
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hd9vh89To4M
> 
> I think this song describes Naru quite well, especially in her regards to her past, her life with Ori and especially that last line and how it will describe her in this chapter.

_Everyone grieves differently._ No two individuals perfectly share one method, and how one chooses to do so is an uncertain process.

Some turn to solitude whilst some seek company. Some hide it, or at least attempt to. Some become bitter. Some become numb. Some mice become lions and some lions become mice.

The lights in one's eyes can dull. Hollow smiles or no smiles at all. Some grow restless and erratic and suddenly everything demands their attention. Some grow listless and apathetic, unaware of the place, uncaring of the time. Some gorge on food. Some go on fasts, as it were.

Some cry in absolute silence. Some wail with fervent howling. Some shed many tears. Some eyes remain deserts; their hearts withered in spirit yet they continue beating half-dead; an inward mockery of living.

But as for Naru, for whom the day has just begun; the mother in her lonesome weeps quietly into the rising dawn.

Today is the worst for her so far. She further remembers what she and Ku talked about several nights ago in vivid detail, which may or may not contribute to her sorrow. Naru isn't sure which one it is.

She had reflected on what the owlet told her; what things had bothered her, the source of her sleeping problems that week. Naru had done this daily, replaying that poignant discussion in her head, dissecting how it began, how it went, how it ended; for the past three days. And throughout those three days, she felt as if she were _missing_ something about it. Something important; just out of reach. She hadn't been able to pinpoint it then. 

But all that meditation paid off. As Naru's eyes fluttered open this morning, there came a spark; a sudden epiphany. It made her sit up straight; a clear vision piercing through blurry sight.

Like a sculpture that requires one's view at a certain angle to see the true image, for a brief moment in that waking reverie, the pieces aligned themselves within her, so to speak. It was in this fleeting moment of stirring that she _remembered_ something. Something she _was._

And it was this realization that took her outside, onto the porch. And it was there that she broke down into tears for the first time in fifteen days. 

Fifteen days since Ori, her beloved child, embraced the light.

Fifteen days since her life changed.

Her shuddering form now hunches off the wooden deck, both feet on the grass just under the porch. Her hands wipe unceasingly at her twisted face and tear-logged eyes, whilst her trembling shoulders rise and fall with each choking whimper that escapes her hiccuping heart. And throughout until now, her quivering lips have managed to utter only one thing through grit, gnashing teeth.

_Ori-i … ! Ori-i-i … !_

Her contained anguish overflows, translating mostly into the saline droplets that leak from coarse-rubbed eyes and the name that tumbles out of her mouth. Not even Father's passing from long ago had evoked such great distress from her before.

Yet the world continues to turn ever onward; unresponsive to her pains; her aches, either old or new. Naru doesn’t stop moving, either; doesn’t stop struggling to breathe as she continues weeping almost uncontrollably. She wants to scream, but she doesn't. She doesn't want to wake those still sleeping, especially those behind her; through the open doorway. That wouldn’t be kind.

Some tears escape her hands, falling onto the damp grass and colliding with the dewdrops. The lush blades bend under the added weight and gently deposit the translucent beads into the earth. Birds have begun to rouse, chirping atop their nests and tree-borne roosts, whilst blossoms on the ground sway with a low, quiet draft that further ruffles the dark hairs on Naru's already trembling form.

She misses him. She misses Ori so, _so_ much to the point her longing pains her.

She yearns for his sweet smile, his bright voice. How much she longs to watch him fall asleep once more in beddings of downy straw; to watch him play and dance again, a blur of white against the sceneries of shifting seasons.

Most of all, however, she misses embracing him. She misses picking him up, having him curl into a little ball and falling asleep there; in her arms. It was the one place in all the world where he would feel safe, feel loved. 

_Ori-i-i … !_

Naru had a life where she had everything, once. 

It was a life with Ori in it. A life with him as a spirit, to be more precise. That life, one that had come together by extraordinary chance through that stormy night, followed by Gumo, then Ku, had been perfect. That life was perfect. That time, those years, had been the golden august of their lives. 

Including hers.

But that life is no longer hers. It’s lost to her, now; reduced to ashes that daily reform; going up in flames within her mind over, and over, and over again; a cruel reminder from herself of what she no longer has and can no longer do. 

And that is what Naru mourns for.

Her joy, Naru realizes now and thus (secretly) admits, depended on Ori being something which she could pick up, cuddle with and put to bed and such. But with him in a new, _different_ form, one that made such affectionate acts impossible … 

Naru could not love him in the way she had learned to love him. Not anymore; no matter how much she wishes to. She never had a chance to say goodbye to it, either; her old life. There was that, too.

She had based that life around raising him those few years. And to have him taken from her by the wills of … whatever bloody wisps be damned! … it is no wonder she feels this unbearable vacancy within her soul. What Naru had built before no longer serves a purpose, for the sole purpose she built it for is gone.

From the very start, once the profound responsibility of caring for another, smaller yet equally miraculous life settles upon a mother's shoulders, she would begin to dedicate her meaning; revolve her own life and own existence in ensuring that her children grow and thrive. Yet this is something that occurs with each child, should any follow after the first.

Thus, it's _always_ with the _first_ that a mother sees the world in new colours. It's a process that changes her in ways she never knew she could be changed. Naru knows this as a simple fact; a plain truth. She had experienced that truth. She understood it.

So to have that same child taken away from her via unseen forces; it is something near equivalent to taking her life, too -- especially when it happens during the first forays into that newfound world. It's something that thrusts her into an entirely different; foreign environment she never could have prepared for during those wonderful few years.

It's disorienting. She loses her way; her direction; her purpose. Her existence, to her, becomes a spinning compass; something unclear, should that happen.

But despite that. 

Despite all that could happen and would happen to such mothers who go through such a terrible thing, the fact remains that they _were_ mothers, once. This inarguably includes Naru, too. 

And that had been what Naru realized this morning.

No amount of time or space or tragedy could ever separate that fact from her. Even if she couldn't embrace him like she once did, Ori _still_ had been her child. Nothing, absolutely nothing, could ever take that wonderful thing; that amazing time, away from her. 

Further, Ori is still alive. And because of that, he still _is_ her child. He's simply different now. But he can't change that, and neither could Naru change that.

But what Naru _could_ change is herself.

And she will. She _will_ adapt. 

She will _grow._

_A home that doesn't change is a dead home,_ her father once said.

She's not going to stop loving him just because he's different. What kind of a mother would she be if she did? Shouldn't she also feel proud that her child; again, _her_ child, would see the flourishing of many a generation to come? 

Furthermore, Naru still has someone in the flesh; someone to physically raise and call her as her own, as she so wants to do. Ku was that second chance for Naru to be what she had once been for Ori. That was a blessing; a gift if she had ever seen one.

And akin to underground minerals that undergo pressure to become glittering gems, Naru's tears take on new facets; new depths. She now cries, not only for the wonderful life she once had and then lost, but also in both stirring relief and the warm alleviation of guilt. 

Relief; for she remembers what she _was_ , still _is_ , and still _has_. Naru further realizes that she still has a chance of being a real mother; a caregiver in the flesh. And guilt; for not having realized this sooner and having such feelings at all, Naru feeling in retrospect that this was a selfish error in her duty to both Ori and Ku. But could she be blamed?

They were both her children, and that was that. And with Ku, someone whom Naru could pick up, hug and put to bed and such; Naru could still share a like-minded joy she once found with Ori. 

It was true that no-one could replace him as he once had been. There would be a hole in the world that none could fill but he himself, if only he were still a spirit child. But he wasn't, and that was that. Thus that gap will remain for as long as she will live.

Yet if it weren't for him and his sacrifice, and through that sacrifice he saved Ku, Naru would have lost her way a long time ago. How different her situation is, now; compared to what might already have been. Would her heart have even beat today, had he not done that?

So in her own way, Naru is thankful. She is grateful for her lot in all that has happened. She will miss her old way of life for a while, though. But that's alright. That's natural.

Should any of those emotions linger, that’s okay, too. She will be able to deal with them better, should that time come. She would have become someone stronger by then.

And through taking care of Ku, Naru would continue to show love to Ori and what he had done. Asides from visiting his sapling daily as a family, of course. 

Today was certainly the worst so far. But maybe that's for the best. There's only one way to go after falling so low. 

Naru doesn't have to do it alone, either, as she suddenly feels a hand grasp her shoulder.

She jumps and turns around, a whimper caught in her throat, only to see Gumo standing there. The few feathers on his back are still ruffled with telltale signs of 'just woke up', but his eyes are open, attentive, and drooping. He steps closer towards her, squatting beside her on the porch.

“I-Is … ” Naru awkwardly stammers, turning back to look outside, towards the glades. She wipes a few more tears, sniffles a little bit. She clears her throat, coughs a bit and straightens her back. 

“Is … is Ku … ?” she then asks, is all her cottonmouth manages to say. Gumo understands her, though.

“Still sleeping,” he affirms, once again placing his hand upon Naru's tensed shoulder, squeezing it softly yet firmly. By his gentle touch, Naru, in turn, realizes her muscles are still taut. She relaxes her frame a little. She sits up better.

“Starting to think Moki playtime has magic,” continues Gumo, looking at the damp grass. “Takes the energy right out of her by evening's end,” he scoffs.

Naru simply nods, the ghost of a smile somehow present in her distraught features. Another sniffle escapes her. Another glittering tear rolls down her white cheek.

“I just don’t want her to see me,” Naru whispers. “Not like this -- ”

“And she doesn’t have to," Gumo agrees quickly, smoothly.

He joins Naru, sitting on the porch’s edge. His long, lanky legs protrude an equally awkward distance off the wooden deck. He looks out towards the glades with her and further takes note of the smoke beginning to rise from the canteen. Everyone would be waking up soon.

“It was high time, you know,” Gumo then says, after another moment of soft breezes and warbling birdsong. “I was starting to worry for you. But I’m glad now, seeing you here.”

Gumo had turned to look at Naru whilst telling her those last few words. The Gumon then looks down and silently slips his hand into hers. No immediate response.

But when he looks back up, Naru has turned to look at him as well. 

Their fingers firmly interlock. She squeezes back. Their eyes, either waking or teary in both their slight blurrinesses, don't break contact.

"It is good to cry," Gumo admonishes, his tone as gentle as light rain. He reaches out with his free hand and tenderly cups her face, then uses his thumb to wipe a stray tear.

Cracks start to form after he does that. Her moistened lips, ever so faintly, begin to tremble again. The corners of her tired eyes start to crease and glisten. Her dampened hand trembles slightly in his grasp.

“Tell you what,” posits Gumo, kindly, an idea forming. He nods over towards the canteen. 

He then suggests, “Cry as much as you can, here, right now. If you do, I’ll work in the kitchens and make sure you get a double portion. Veral is making some kind of toast with … compaté? Compoté? How do you say it?”

“Compôte,” Naru chuckles, lightly correcting him whilst looking down and managing a sheepish and genuine smile, though for just a second. She sniffles again. And again. Then Naru leans into his cupped hand, his touch, and looks back up at him, trying to smile like he is. “Needs the accent.”

Gumo smiles back. “So would you like that, then?” he asks. He squeezes her hand, wipes away yet another tear.

Comfort food after a good cry? And she wouldn't be the one to cook it? 

“Yes, please,” relents Naru, the mother nodding as Gumo follows, the corners of his mouth slightly perking up more in subdued triumph. 

He then leans forward and presses his round forehead to hers. She returns the gesture, though she closes her eyes and sighs deeply. Gumo presses a little harder. Naru does the same and grips his hand a little tighter. 

And through closed eyes, Naru hears, just above a whisper:

“I love you, Naru. Please don’t forget that. And Ku loves you, too.”

A quick sob passes through her lips after he says that. Naru then partially regathers her trembling composure, taking a shaky breath and slowly whispering back to him:

“I won’t forget. I promise. I love you two, too.”

“Too-too?” Gumo cuckoos back.

It was stupid, but that nonetheless got a giggle of relief from both of them. There was no need for walls here.

They stay like that for a while, as the sun rises higher into the sky, the sounds of chatter and pot-clatter starting to fill the air, a fine mist beginning to form from evaporating dew drops. It was now a golden morning. A new day for Niwen. A fresh start for all who lived here, some more so than others.

Gumo leans away. He then says with an encouraging smile;

“I’ll be here with you. So don't stop on my account."

And with that, Naru doesn't. Naru holds his hand, then his hands, and eventually breaks down in his embrace. It was nice to be cradled for a change. 

The pieces have been found and thus been gathered.

It was time for the mending to begin; as the sun's golden rays embraced her, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leitmotifs: "Sorrow" and "Mercury" by Sleeping At Last
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lV9dOY878OM * * * https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z7XHTn1CJ5s
> 
> "Sorrow" is self-explanatory.
> 
> As for "Mercury", like the planet that revolves closest to the sun, the precious metals hidden within its core undergo a constant process of inward refinement; a celestial forge that continues to improve upon and beautify itself in its very essence. Naru was no doubt closer to Ori, though. How much more painful the flames must be.
> 
> The song's symbolism can also be applied to Gumo as well, who does have precious qualities to him. The word "mercurial" is further derived from the Roman god's name, meaning "intelligent, enthusiastic and quick" which does describe Gumo pretty well.
> 
> And speaking of precious metals, does anyone remember the beautiful art form that is kintsugi? I think its philosophy applies very much to Naru here. Link to a video about it below.
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lT55_u8URU0
> 
> Lastly, this is only half a chapter. I feel the original, on its own, would be too long. I further wanted to focus more on how Naru feels. She has gone through so much in both games, and I felt it necessary to bring to light what she may have to deal with in the aftermath. (The woe of side characters.) 
> 
> And the theme in this chapter applies to all people; not just mothers. It's okay to cry sometimes. But like the rains that fall upon the earth, sorrow's true beauty is only shown when it makes one grow. I feel like more people should understand this nowadays.
> 
> So there it was, and I sincerely hope you enjoyed reading it. More to come soon, and thanks to those who subscribed to this thing.


	3. The Alchemical Properties of Breakfast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Food brings people together.
> 
> But sometimes it brings a single person together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leitmotifs: "Welcome to Wonderland" by Anson Seabra & "My Friends" by Oh Wonder
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NmMpPeCFaiY (Naru's problem)
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lP8xSAMK8LY (A request for aid)

_If Naru had to describe this morning's breakfast in three words, it would have been delicious, perplexing and wonderful._

For one, the soft, fluffy white bread had been cut into thick, chunky slices. This was an easy practice most effective in guaranteeing filling mouthfuls, but this was also just the beginning; the first step to something even greater.

Each slice had then been dipped into a slightly salted egg wash. They were then fried for four minutes on each side -- no more, no less -- to indulgent, crispy perfection. 

And lastly, the forbidden purple gem: the chordyberry compôte. Rich and sugary, this warm topping dully glistened in its vibrant amethyst hues, overflowing from atop the butter-dense slabs like viscous wax dripping from a melting candle. The sweet spillage then pooled onto the plates and surrounded the golden bricks like moats, finishing a masterpiece worth several ivory towers.

All that, and Naru had gotten two servings of this phenomenal dish as Gumo had promised. 

For breakfast!

Who in their right mind would ever make such deity-worthy delicacies for _breakfast_? A cook who just so happened to be her good friend, apparently.

Had it been luxury? Or had it been overkill? 

Bite by bite, Naru had eaten her comfort food with both reverence and nervousness, for she could not find the answer. Reverence, for wanting to savour each scrumptious mouthful. And nervousness, for Naru was unsure if the cook responsible for her meal was remotely aware she was having two servings as opposed to one, the latter case probably having been the said cook's intention for everyone this mealtime. 

And funny how that is, for some. All of a sudden, a criminal is born by them simply having more of something everybody else is having.

Gumo had promised her, sure, but their agreement hadn’t included the informing of the cook, either. Then Naru became unsure if she would have preferred her friend to know of her supposed crime or not. 

Should he have known? Would Gumo even dare do such a thing?

And why was she so worried about this, again?

Naru took another great bite to help her think on those questions. And just like that, all those worries had dissipated from her mind like fine dust scattered in the wind. If she grew worried yet again, she took yet another bite, and those thoughts, too, along with others, vanished into pure bliss.

_That_ had been the subtle yet formidable power of Veral made manifest through his artform. 

Despite the cook's rigorous discipline in following recipes to a tee, him going as far as insisting that the names of dishes be pronounced with their original accents, Veral was a thunderous rainstorm born from southern winds. He was unpredictable, occasionally loud and intimidating but at the same time warm and always acted in ways good to all. 

In the long run, at least.

He also has never cursed. Not once. He wasn't the type to do that. But has he ever thrown shade?

As storms do, yes. Most definitely.

This was coming from someone who owned an innocent, adorable, doe-eyed appearance. He was soft and woolly. Short-statured. Adorned in unassuming, leafy green garments. A silken voice to boot, but only when _not_ in a kitchen which, really, how often does that happen given his occupation?

No one could truly determine his next move or his next scheme. The sole certainty to him was that his plans would always serve in improving his culinary prowess, which had easily rendered him harmless. 

Again, in the long run. 

In most things.

To illustrate with a recent case, Veral had a certain newly-formed, brotherly-like constructor duo build a strange machine out of stone for him. It had looked like a vertical, hollow, rectangular box with two doors, and he further designed it with the idea of "bringing winter to him" instead of having to travel; or having _others_ travel, more aptly, all the way to Baur's Reach should he need something cold. 

"Purely for cooking purposes," as Veral had so confidently advertised. “This will shorten the expeditions to the Reach for food from any amount of time to no time at all!”

Everyone's interest had naturally been piqued, and Gumo and Grom -- the duo -- had taken the request with scholarly eagerness, curious to see if it could work. Many ideas pertaining to its true purpose had sprung up then. One of those theories had even suggested a literal portal to the snowy mountains, one that even non-spirits could use.

But, upon completion, lo and behold -- !

Veral had used it to simply store foodstuffs with generally short shelf lives. Ice cubes, ice shavings; the like.

"What?" the cook had asked, nonchalant towards the dumbstruck crowd, casually using his hip to slam the lower, bigger door shut. "Do you _want_ mouldy butter? Make that yourself."

Further elaboration on that ending and its aftermath was a different story for a different time, for there currently are other, more interesting tales to be had.

  
  
  


\- - -

  
  
  


_Whilst stepping inside the crowding canteen,_ Naru asked Ku if she would sit with her. This was after Gumo had gone ahead into the kitchen to help out with operations in lieu of Naru, as was earlier agreed upon.

The mother felt the need for a bit of company this misty morning, the lonesome sentiment having grown within her whilst walking from their house. But she also took into account the fact that Ku, for the past two weeks, had routinely eaten with Moki her age, which could dampen the chances of that happening.

Naru would have understood if the owlet expressed anything contrary to sitting with her, and her motherly side would have let her go, should the owlet have said so. 

But to her unhidden joy, Ku had been most happy to oblige. She even raised her wings so she could be picked up, which Naru was beholden to do.

Ku further confided with a well-hidden grimace that eating with the younger Moki was “a messy, Using-a-Wing-as-a-Food-Shield-prone business,” and Naru had smiled at that, equally secretive with a lowered, clandestine chuckle. How mature that was, coming from a young one.

Naru rubbed Ku’s head for that, and the owlet affectionately cooed back. And together they sat and were served their meals.

Unlike the majority, Ku pecked into a trio of lightly peppered, milk-poached fishcakes (a trendy Moki meal) whilst eagerly regaling tales of exciting games and lively dreams the evening and night before. Naru, meanwhile, had quietly encompassed her arm around this soft cushion of feathers whilst eating/committing her crime with her other hand. The mother also gave occasional comments, a few fond smiles here, a nod or two there; to show she was paying attention. 

She wasn’t. But simply hearing Ku speak was … comforting. It was comforting.

And for a moment, everything was pure bliss. All was right in the world. Breakfast was great, she had good company, and the canteen’s capacity at that time was neither overpacked nor awkwardly lacking. The cosy mood was just right, as folks warmly conversed amongst themselves with the hearth burning nearby.

But Naru got distracted from all that at some point. How it happened, she didn’t know.

She could still hear Ku, but she was unable to listen or focus when it happened, much less stop it from happening. Her movements; lifting, biting, chewing, became mechanical. Automatic. Soulless. It occurred so suddenly yet so silently; as if her mind were snatched away yet her body hadn't recognized it yet.

She was still here. But she wasn't, either. 

Naru had been spirited away, taken somewhere else whilst not moving an inch, subject to an inward force that sought something from herself.

A time had seized her heart; an older time, an older heart -- both painfully clutching the new versions of themselves like taut wires tied around the beating organ as hefty millstones weighed it down, digging and slicing into the fragile flesh.

This was to be expected. She'd cried about it -- truly cried about it -- for the first time only not too long ago. But even then … 

Naru still wanted her previous life in which Ori was a spirit child. It was a marvellous time, that life. But her memories of that wonderland, especially the good ones, served as a cruel reminder of what she once owned and can no longer return to. 

Of what she no longer has.

The old heart clung to rust-infected fragments of a dead way of life with burning desperation whilst also falling asunder into jagged, miasmatic shards. No matter how much it wanted to return to where it felt it belonged, however, it was stuck here, in the current time. And just how much it despised that. 

It despised being here. It despised being in the Now.

So it decided that its owner should suffer for it.

Naru, too, began hating the Now in secret because of this, for it wasn't in a way she would have liked it. Furthermore, she was powerless to change anything about it in the way she would have liked, which only split those corruptive fractures into even more divisive starbursts on the surface of her mind. 

She was stuck here. She felt trapped in a place she didn't belong. In _time_ she didn't belong. This was all Naru could think of, at this point.

_How cruel -- unfair -- life can be,_ Naru thought.

But fortunately for her, however, life -- even with all its recklessness and its ignorance -- did not leave her without a way out. There's always a way out from everything, even if it's a burning path.

For Naru, the path it gave her was a painstaking process.

She had a truth, a reminder for what time she should live in and _why_ she should live in it -- as a voice poured into the widening cracks of her darkening, angry thoughts. A proverbial adhesive then began rejoining her splitting fragments.

"Mama?" said the innocent voice, as clear as a ray of golden sun in a grey, overcast sky.

Who beckoned her by her humble title? Would Naru answer the call and, in doing so, fulfil her duty and achieve her purpose?

Naru blinked a little as her nerves and senses returned. 

Colours and shades reinvested themselves, and voices grew sharper and more defined. Smells intensified along with their subtle nuances, and the comforting sensation of crispy bread in her hand along with the sweet dance of compôte on her tongue reminded her to swallow. And she did. And she enjoyed it.

Then when she looked down towards the voice’s source, the owlet had burrowed herself into Naru's warm embrace. Ku's fire-coloured eyes emerged from under ashen-black feathers, looking worriedly at her mother.

"Tired?" Ku pouted. "Your face is very … still. Like the moon. And the moon is always there for me. Does the moon ever get tired?”

Like the present, Ku was a wonderful gift; Ori having been the giver of both. 

Simply seeing her bright and fit, and seeing she was concerned for her, too, had been reassurances in themselves. They were simple yet profound purposes for living. Purposes Naru could choose to pursue.

And she would pursue them. Why wouldn't she, as a mother with a child?

Furthermore, Naru was wanted by her purpose. She was also anchored by her purpose, and she was here with her purpose. 

More importantly, she was loved, in the painful Now, by that very same purpose.

Naru had always been loved. She already knew this as a fact. But a reminder or two would never hurt as the burning adhesive did its work; slowly, painfully, but surely fixing a brand new heart with every fragment, with every strip of golden glue adhered onto her shattered, starburst one. 

It was time to move forward, not to dwell and cut herself with the fragments of the past.

She must lay her heart bare in its current state for Time and Space, the invisible yet constant artisans, to operate on it. But would she remain open to them and their designs? Would she be willing to learn so she could one day fulfil her true, brighter purpose in full?

Naru smiled and nodded in response to Ku's pure question. 

_Yes, I am tired,_ Naru thought to herself.

_But as long as I can watch over you, I will be alright._

_Always._

Naru raised a tender hand and stroked Ku's head again, letting loose a heavy sigh through her nose. Ku cooed back, quietly clacking her dark beak and snuggling even deeper into the hug, happily unaware of the meanings behind it all.

"You know I love you, right, Ku?"

"Mhm. Love you too, Mama," Ku said. "By the way, so, like, when I was just about to reach the finish line … "

And as Ku returned to rambling with Naru gladly letting her, the mother was further warmed by the nearby, crackling flames just like everyone else, accompanied by the soft bubbling of the cauldron's creamy stew meant for lunch later on. Already, there had been something great to look forward to.

A gentle rain had also begun to fall sometime in the middle of their meal, creating the perfect ambience for cuddling closer as raindrops pitter-pattered on the misted windows. 

Like a skilful and much-needed shoulder rub, these simple sensations softened much of the tumults within Naru, further securing her to the present, her present, and reminding her that life still had good things on offer. 

She simply had to look for it whilst looking to the future and pursuing her purpose.

Only then would the pain dull over time.

Only then would her heart emerge anew.

  
  
  


\- - -

  
  
  


_"Sorry, Mama,"_ Ku lamented.

Some time had passed since they'd been served. Both mother and daughter have finished their fishcakes and stolen treasures, and the canteen was starting to get busier as more made their way over to get their morning fills. It was time to give up their seats.

Ku was genuinely apologetic, Naru could tell. She truly wanted to help. How sweet it was; the owlet eager but held back by a single limitation.

Ku continued, "I'd help, but I don't wanna mess'em up with my talons … "

But before she could continue fussing about it, Naru put her worries to rest.

"It's alright, dear. I'll do it," Naru assured her, rubbing her daughter on the head again. "I need to walk a little, anyway. But thank you for being so sweet, my sugary liquorice gumdrop,” Naru smiled.

A pacified hoot was Ku's reply, along with a big side-hug with her beauteous wings. That was the first time Naru called her that. More names would follow, for sure.

"Love you, Mama," Ku gushed.

"Love you too, my sweet," Naru cooed, leaning down and pressing a kiss to her feathered forehead, patting her on the back. "Now, go join your friends. But don’t go running around just yet! You've just eaten, yeah? Promise me?”

" _Pinky_ promise."

Always the negotiator.

With that, Naru took upon the job of returning their dishes. She piled them up as Ku left her, then waddled through the bustling mess hall and proceeded to the kitchen where, with each step, a raucous din grew louder. There was urgent shouting, the staccato of the chopping board and relentless sizzling.

And as she turned the corner --

"Miss Naru!" boomed a curt, pragmatic voice.

With a full, steaming saucepan in a mittened hand, Veral and his sudden and most boisterous greeting startled Naru off her feet. The cook had just so happened to be by the door when Naru made her entrance. The mother, meanwhile, had quietly frozen mid-step at the sudden burst of noise. 

Naru was fortunate in having a good grip; the plates would have toppled otherwise and that would have … displeased Veral, to put it lightly; as per Ku’s concern. Naru wasn't in the same room as him, either, yet her ears have already been annihilated. 

_How on-brand,_ Naru thought with a very neutral expression on her face as the ringing in her ears subsided.

“Craving for yet another serving, I presume?” Veral then asked, not taking his arched eyebrow off of her. He asked this whilst stirring the contents of the saucepan with his other mittened hand, the short-statured cook standing atop a stool -- one of many being used in the kitchen -- in front of a burning stovetop. 

_Yet another serving?_ Naru asked herself, the particular wording having caught her attention.

_Ah,_ she then thought, after realizing the specific word and putting two and two together.

That word. Yet. He _did_ know about her crime, after all. 

But he didn't seem disgruntled. Not truly, anyway. 

Settles that worry, then.

… Somewhat.

In the well-furnished, copper-toned kitchen, legions of pots and pans noisily whistled and rattled atop hearty flames. Several Moki, each outfitted in pristine chef's caps and/or aprons, had been wrangled into Veral's culinary taskforce this morning, the little furry creatures made to work with chopping, peeling, grating; shouting their movements, shouting completed tasks and dashing around and so forth. It was a tight ship, but the cook demonstrated flying colours in organizing the chaos despite the Mokis' playful, laissez-faire natures and his own workload, albeit the last part was self-imposed in nature.

Yet Veral made time for her. He always did, even though he multitasked it. He doesn’t do the same for many others.

It was a small gesture, true, but it was also something Naru truly appreciated. It was a sign that strengthened her faith in their friendship. 

It's always the little things. 

Eventually, in response to his sly query, Naru put on a smile and further shook her head whilst trying to regain her composure. If there was anything Naru could learn from Veral, it was to think before speaking.

“Just wanted to return my dishes, is all,” Naru said. “Also wanted to give proper thanks for the amazing breakfast, and Ku really liked your fish cakes. Not a single flake was left behind."

Veral hummed and slowly nodded, smile-free, but with beady eyes that shone with pride. “All in a morning’s work,” he then stated, lowering his arched eyebrow. Finally, equal ground.

“Found a name for your cold machine yet?” Naru asked with subdued curiosity, glancing over to where it was in the kitchen. 

The controversial contraption gave off faint auras of wispy frost, softly humming with wintry power. An apron-clad Moki then scampered over, flung open the door, grabbed an armful of butter blocks, then slammed it shut with their hip and promptly returned to their station.

““Refreezerator” is one. Doesn’t feel right, though," Veral coughed. Or did he scoff? 

Must've been another’s idea.

“No, it doesn’t,” Naru agreed carefully, refraining from suggesting an idea herself. 

"But I’m sure you'll come up with … something … ”

She trailed off. Naru’s eyes squinted. Her grip on the plates suddenly felt quite warm and clammy.

" … soon," she managed to finish.

There was a good reason why that happened.

Concurrent to their small talk, Veral had subtly tilted his head at slight inclines to the side, his cap flopping in the same direction having given this fact away. His beady eyes glinted with sharp knowingnesses in the nearby flames rather than relaxed, confident gleaming. His bushy eyebrow also reassumed its signature arch -- an indication he knew something was afoot.

Naru noticed all of this in quick succession as she trailed off. In turn, her reaction was an obvious, unhidden cue. 

Veral spoke up before she could.

"Miss Naru, put your plates down, will you? Lend me an ear, too." 

Was that a request? 

Or a silken assertion?

Veral paused his stirring so he could focus on Naru. The world continued turning in the forms of sizzle-rackety uproars around them. He even turned to fully face her. 

And with the extra bit of height already gained from standing atop the wooden stool, Veral seemed to attain an extra air of authority, as if he didn’t have enough clout in the Glades already. 

He was still shorter than Naru, though. By just a bit. 

But not wanting to spoil his mood, Naru obeyed her friend. She thus set her plates down. In the second they were let go, they were snatched by the nearest Moki and passed down bucket brigade-style to the far end of the room: the Dishwashing Corner. Veral certainly had a system for everything.

Then Naru stepped closer and leaned in. Veral, still atop the stool, raised his hand to cover his mouth.

"I don't know much, and I don't want to name names," he whispered officiously. "But what I do know is that you're not in the best of places right now. So go on over and take a third serving, and -- !"

"Veral -- " Naru cut him off mid-sentence, backing away and turning to the Moki around them with a scowl deeply set upon her features. Had one of them, with their general inclinations towards respecting one’s privacy despite their stealthy abilities, spied on her this morning? 

_What had they seen?_ inwardly asked Naru, beginning to panic. _And how much had they seen?_ as if having found the airtight truth.

She didn’t want this. She didn’t like being in the spotlight. She wasn’t that type.

But her friend was quick to respond.

"Oh, so you'd like to help out, then!" Veral suddenly proclaimed with an abrupt, mischievous grin, his voice deliberately louder. This easily re-attracted Naru's gaze upon him, the mother visibly perplexed. What in all Spirit Trees names was that for?

The Moki continued working. They had gotten used to this, and were quick to discern that this was not about them. 

But an indignant splash came from the far corner. Then a familiar yet unhappy face emerged from behind comical tower-stacks of dirty dishes. 

"Veral!" objected Gumo, Naru’s turn to scowl having come to an end whilst his began. He crossed his lanky soap-soaked arms. “You promised me you wouldn’t have her work!”

And Veral, his grin reduced into a pronounced smirk, cheekily nodded and shouted over the din, "And I intend to keep my promise, Mister Gumo! My success on that, however, depends on whether Miss Naru would like me to remain a friend who keeps his word."

Veral then waggled an eyebrow at her in full view after saying that. He still hadn't taken his eyes off of her. 

Still, though, Naru wasn't exactly in the mood for laughter.

Naru suddenly grew conscious of a growing self-consciousness. She clasped her hands with a genuine expression of apprehension on her plain, pure-white face. 

“You don’t have to do all … this. For me. I’m not that kind of person."

Naru had assumed that Gumo was helping with the cooking, not spending his morning in a warm, damp corner doing the dishes, hers included. And Veral was willing to give her yet another (ha!) plate of his toast. Both were going out of their ways to do things she didn't need. She didn’t need all of this attention.

Of course, that was simply how Naru felt about it.

" _Have_ to doesn't always equal _want_ to," Veral countered with a shrug, his smirk also finally having completely vanished. 

"In this case, it's both. And we'd sure like to, Miss Naru."

Veral continued, still looking up at her and not once having broken eye contact. He took off his mittens and placed them on the stovetop’s edge before crossing his arms. "You're our friend, Miss Naru, and I'm sure you know what that means. Besides, we wouldn't have done anything if we couldn't have truly helped. We just hope that you would accept our ways … of … "

In a sudden twist of irony, it was Veral’s turn to pause. He very rarely ever does this. And should he, it’s only for truly big reasons.

“ … giving,” Veral managed to finish.

Naru had begun sniffling. As Gumo made his way over to them, a fear tears had already been wiped away.

Veral and Gumo naturally grew concerned. They turned to look at each other, suddenly unsure of themselves and on how to proceed. Did they go too far? Did they exceed their boundaries and make Naru uncomfortable?

The answer, thankfully, did not take long to reveal itself.

Both then felt a warm sensation surrounding them as Naru stepped forth and hugged them. She was always the best hugger, no contest, and she sure wanted to give them her best -- for they deserved it.

“You … you scheming … salamanders … ” Naru sniffled, her heart growing lighter as relief welled up within her; a swelling, warm feeling rising and bubbling over.

Gumo gladly accepted the hug, wrapping his arm around her. Veral on the other hand awkwardly patted Naru on the forearm.

"The only salamander in all the Glades is Motay,” Veral said as Naru withdrew herself, the cook crossing his arms once more but smiling faintly this time. “And the schemes I whip up keeps everyone fed and happy.” 

But with a resigned shrug of the shoulders, Veral then said, “But if you truly don’t want another, then I suppose that’s fine, too. Can’t force you, now, can we?”

Gumo sagely nodded at that, gently taking Naru’s hand in his. She accepted the gesture, even if the Gumon’s hand was still wet and soapy.

Then they stood there for a while, in silence, as the not-so-silent surroundings continued their machinations. All three were thinking of what just happened between them, the words they said, the things they did -- and what it all meant to them before, what it means now, and what could mean in the future.

Perhaps they did overreact to things. But it’s only natural, given the recent circumstances.

It was Naru, fittingly, who seemed to recognize this the most.

“You know, on second thought, perhaps a third helping wouldn’t be so bad,” she said towards both of them. “You did do all this for me. Would be a shame for all that to go to waste.”

Veral was quick to agree. “I concur.”

“Please?” Gumo agreed as well.

And for the first time this morning, Naru let out a laugh as a bigger smile danced across her lips.

  
  
  


\- - -

  
  
  


As Naru exited the kitchen with a plate of chordyberry compôte on butter-fried toast, breakfast was starting its last stretch. The canteen was beginning to empty with a few bedheads and latecomers occupying the growing number of empty seats. The light rain outside had also ceased, allowing the few golden rays of dawn to shine before the morning truly began.

Naru looked around with a careful gaze, taking stock of the patrons.

Then her sights fell upon Grom, who just entered the mess hall. She approached him with the dish in tow.

“Good morning, Naru,” Grom cordially greeted her. Then looked at the plate in her hands. “S’that for me? Jeez, Veral ought to calm down a bit. Gonna work himself to death, that woolly chap.”

Naru smirked in place of a chuckle. She hid it when Grom looked back up, the old Gorlek none the wiser.

“Actually, yes,” she said, her plan having found quick fruition. “It is for you. One of the last plates, too. Unless you want fishcakes?”

It wasn’t as grand as tricking everyone into building a machine that simply extended the lives of perishable foodstuffs, but a scheme was a scheme all the same. And wouldn’t Veral be proud of her, had he known.

Naru left the mess hall with someone feeling happy. For that, she felt happy too, and understood why Veral did things the way he did them, and why that was so. 

Everyone does things differently. This includes helping others. Some just have unorthodox methods.

And isn’t that a treasure?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leitmotif: "From the Ground Up" by Sleeping at Last
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KQPdjoAPdGs (The response to Naru's request)
> 
> Alchemy and growing seeds share a similar trait: their miraculousness.
> 
> And thank you for reading all this, if you did. A bit of a slower chapter, but I decided to focus on Naru's emotional and mental state, especially on how it will impact things later on in the story.
> 
> That being said, I promise that things will pick up in the next chapter.
> 
> As always, thank you for reading.
> 
> "Chordyberry" dish was inspired by this by the way: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qhDDhVtj-KM


	4. Suspicion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the Glades' population grows, a secret service sees new blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read those long tags if you haven't. It's specifically for this chapter.
> 
> iT's aLSo PaRt oF tHE creAtiVe pRoceSs
> 
> Also wow, quicker update? Can't relate.
> 
> Ambience Music: "神樹" by 秋山裕和 (Hirokazu Akiyama) (i hope it's right)
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EuH87PKPzFM

_Unlike what some might believe,_ chordyberries aren't readily available foodstuffs. 

This is because most Moki cannot resist stuffing themselves with the delectable plant, should they find any. This often leaves most chordyberry bushes barren until the next full moon; when they’re ripe, plump and most importantly not poisonous when consumed. Thus growing them in the Glades would be folly.

At the same time, in order to achieve things like this morning’s breakfast, especially in great quantities, a cook needs to have their own supply -- one that is hidden from lazy yet chordyberry-craving eyes. With that, the plant becomes a valued commodity, something worth cultivating whilst preserving the secrecy of the cache’s location. 

For non-Moki, anyway.

But especially in regards to them, what can a non-Moki do with those berries, anyway? What great powers is one given in possessing, say, a mere bushel of them?

Having Moki actually work for once is one such thing, as Veral has so demonstrated with the mere existence of his kitchen workforce. Workers, motivated ones at that, don't simply appear from thin air -- they’re made with the right incentives promised them. But Veral isn’t alone in pulling these strings.

He trusts Opher and Tuley with this scheme, and they are fully involved with unique responsibilities delegated to them. Tuley, for he has the gardener’s know-how; Opher, to protect Tuley from potential danger whilst going out of the Glades to harvest them.

This arrangement, though, would soon see change. With permission from the cunning cook, of course.

“And what’s in it for me?” Ku shrewdly asked, her eyes narrowing into sly, challenging slits. Where this conversation took place is irrelevant; it’s a secret.

Seeing the owlet undaunted and, more importantly, prudent after being presented this opportunity gave Opher and Tuley good reason to grin. She would be a wonderful addition to the team.

Naru, on the other hand, somehow managed to conceal her growing concern with a nervous smile. She had … so many questions.

Since when had Ku become a negotiator shadier than Twillen? _How_? At such a young age, too!

Just what were they getting into? And why was Naru even here? Shouldn’t this be kept secret, as they so proclaimed? What could she contribute?

“Easy, Naru, easy,” Opher breezily responded, smirking whilst perched atop his staff, his tail wrapped around the weapon stuck firm into the grassy earth. “Veral trusts you. He knows that you’re the kind whose lips are trustworthily sealed when it comes to it.”

When what comes to it? 

_When_ what _comes to it?_

Naru inwardly screamed for she does not know.

Opher continued speaking. “Plus, we’ve been seeing an increase in the number of Moki settling in the Glades over the past two weeks, and a growing number of mouths equals a growing need for workers; to make sure everything runs smoothly. Long and short of it: you’re just gonna help in carrying more berries back per trip, that’s all. 'Sides, Tuley can only carry so much, and I’m just there to protect him.”

Naru gives him an "I see" nod out of politeness.

“And as for you, young one,” Tuley says, turning to look at Ku whose feathered chest is proudly puffed out.

He goes on to say, “We’ve been having a problem as of late. Too many worms have -- ”

And with the confidence of a thousand burning suns, a voice rings clear, true; decided.

“Deal!” Ku agrees, her fire-coloured eyes blazing forth.

So much for being a negotiator. Ku is only shady. 

But in a good way, if that was possible.

“Well then,” Opher says before hopping down. He glances at Tuley as he extracts his weapon. “The new recruits are ready and raring to go.”

_I never said anything!_ Naru thinks. Still, she smiles and nods with Ku.

Tuley likewise nods back. “Good. Fortunately for you two, Veral has run dry with today’s breakfast. We shall go and gather some today. Return here in roughly an hour. We’ll set things up in the meantime.”

“And most importantly,” Opher chimes in. “Act. Natural.”

_The worst oxymoron_ , Naru thinks to herself.

_Ever._

  
  
  
  


\- - - 

_On second thought, this mightn’t be so bad,_ Naru thinks to herself. 

At least Ku is enjoying herself.

With a basket backpack capable of carrying ten Moki, Naru takes the rear. Ku is in the middle with Opher, the owlet quietly giggling as the weapon master retells humourized fights during his younger years. Finally, Tuley leads them in silence, the gardener equipped with his trusty walking stick/plough and a similar, though smaller basket. Three Moki might fit in his.

Both baskets also have lids, a simple yet crucial feature which ensures that no-one sees their smuggled goods. Sometimes it's the simple things that work best in any given scheme.

The group proceeds at a brisk pace with this line-up, allowing the first-timers to gaze upon the beauty of the path. This gives Naru another reason to backtrack on her earlier misgivings. 

Bright noon rays filter through the canopy above them as they take odd twists and turns into the thicket, the forest and the travellers dappled in shifting pinpoints of verdant light with the sound of water rushing close by. They climb over a series of flowering mounds with a stream snaking in between them, and they cross the twisting body of water with trees felled by lightning and fashioned into natural bridges. It is after another while that Naru realizes they have been following the same stream for most of the trip. 

_Upwards_ , she notes to herself. 

But then Tuley turns at a nondescript spot, delivering a sudden change in momentum that diverges from the waters and nearly gives Naru whiplash.

“Alrighty … ” she mumbles to herself, returning to attention after being lost in the deceptive, sparkling reverie around them. She grabs her backpack straps and keeps pace.

They continue in relative silence, the quietude dotted with more of Ku’s giggles which echo throughout the spaces. Naru can’t help but smile with the owlet, and some of the monkey’s anecdotes are indeed funny.

And after another stretch which included pushing into heavy patches of lush, tickly ferns and climbing down several rocky ledges, they eventually arrive at a looming, moss-ridden limestone wall. The portion they approach has a large curtain of vines with heart-shaped leaves draped over it.

The curtain is unnaturally still for its large size. Naru then realizes that there is no wind here; none at all. The air becomes a little warmer and a little more pungent with this knowledge.

Surprising no-one, Tuley dips his plough into the curtain and finds no resistance. Then he parts it, revealing a dark, twisting, Naru-sized-and-then-some path that leads into the limestone. The sounds of droplets dripping from stalactites bounce around and faintly echo, as if in greeting.

Unexpectedly, however, Opher abruptly stops in his tracks. 

The weapon master raises a tight fist, gesturing for all to wait. Ku obeys. Tuley raises a bushy eyebrow towards his associate.

"Look," Opher then says. His face has hardened. His brow furrows and his eyes squint. His tail twists pensively behind him.

Ku and Tuley lean in just as Naru catches up to them. She was taking her time in examining the areas and dedicating the path to memory. After doing so, she turns to look at what they're crowding around. Being the tallest among them, Naru easily spots what was wrong. 

It lies there. Clear as day.

Blood. There is blood on the limestone path, its colour a sickly hue similar to that of mouldy peas, taking the shapes of small puddles and furious footprints.

The trail conspicuously leads deeper inside. At the same time, however, the prints are pointed towards the exit. And something dark speckles the blood. 

Is that … ash?

Everyone becomes alarmed, though some feel that way for different reasons. Were they discovered? Or was it something else? Something worse?

No one speaks for a good while and neither do they move at the threshold. Their mouths run dry. Their throats stop up. All four of them think of what this could mean.

The forest continues its machinations around them, its variety of sounds made louder by lack of wind. Cicadas scream around them. A frantic flutter of wings from above. A toad's croaking becomes incessant. In the distance, they can still make out the ripples of the stream. Thinking of cool water in the stagnant air makes everyone feel warmer, as the sun continues to shine upon them.

In time, the silence grows unbearable. It is Ku who first breaks it.

"Is … is this the only way in?" she asks, looking up at Opher with nervous eyes. Where had her bravado gone off to?

Opher quietly nods, the weapon master dropping to a knee in the middle of the group and inspecting the ash-speckled blood. He dips two fingers into it. He rubs it in between his calloused digits, examining the viscosity. Then he looks into the path ahead. He lastly sniffs at the blood.

"Both ash and blood are fresh," he then announces, wiping the blood off with a fallen leaf. "Snapper blood, to be exact. It was here say … fifteen, twenty minutes ago?"

"The Snapper prints check out," Tuley points out. "More blood out here, too."

Keeping the curtain open, the gardener uses his other hand to gesture at several more Snapper tracks. More spatters of green blood smear the dirt nearby, also dappled with black ash. The group hadn't noticed right away because it blended in with the surroundings. 

They also notice that the Snapper prints go both ways; in and out of the cave entrance.

Then Tuley says: "Hey. There’s another set of prints."

The gardener points to, indeed, a scattering of crescent-shaped indentations amongst the vicious claw marks. Hoofprints, to be exact. These, like the Snapper, enter the cave as well.

But they do not leave.

Silence, once more, ensues. The clues are being assembled, disassembled, then reassembled in their minds. But while a picture is beginning to form, something vital is yet missing. 

It is Naru who voices this.

"What burned it?" she softly asks, her grip on the basket straps tightening. "Are there torches in there?"

Tuley shakes his head. "We have no need for them. There is a skylight inside, nor do we visit at night. Much too dangerous for a bunch of berries."

The gardener pauses. He recollects himself as a thought comes to him.

"On the other hand," he continues, slowly. "If the Snapper was the only one that left … "

Opher quietly rises. He draws his staff. "Whatever injured it is still inside," he finishes.

But that raises two more questions. These are the inquiries that formulate on the tips of their tongues yet go no further; subconscious worries unknowingly shared amongst them.

Is what remains in there still alive? And if so, does it mean harm?

There is only one way to find out.

"Naru, Ku. Please remain here," Opher urges, not looking away from the path. He grasps his staff with two hands now. "Tuley, come with me. Your plough is enough of a weapon."

"Very well," Tuley nods, without hesitation.

_Tuley has a bit more pluck than I thought,_ Naru thinks to herself, pleasantly surprised for her peaceable friend.

And with that, the weapon master and the gardener plunge into the darkness. The vines sweep back into place, swaying, fluttering until achieving windless stillness once more. Mother and daughter, meanwhile, embrace one another; staying in the warm light outside.

"Will they be okay?" Ku worriedly asks.

"I'm sure they will," replies Naru as a bead of sweat runs down her head, down her cheek. "I'm sure they will … "

As to who those words were meant to soothe, however, and if they indeed comforted, Naru is uncertain.

The waiting begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ending Theme Song: N/A, sorry
> 
> The chapter summary is one massive pun by the way, with how things happened in this chapter.
> 
> Hopefully my promise to pick things up (in the previous chapter) was met, and I hope I lured you in with a false sense of security with the first part. : )
> 
> More to come soon and, as always, thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed.


	5. Conflagrate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Opher and Tuley try to solve the mystery, along with its aftermath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feels like the right time to have this event happen.

_There technically are two entrances_ , and Opher and Tuley know of this. It’s just that one of them is more survivable than the other. 

Unless one possessed the gift of flight like Ku, they would be met with a grisly death either by drowning or suffering a quick succession of several bodily traumas caused by the pull of gravity itself.

That, and Snappers _can’t_ fly.

Not more than once, at least. 

However, Opher and Tuley aren’t sure if the creature still in here -- if it was still here -- could have the same be said about it. 

Though, why enter through the vine curtain if it _could_ fly? It would have been a more natural entrance for it if it took the other option.

It also would have been easier for it to escape the Snapper and leave it alone altogether which, based on the clues from earlier, did not seem likely to have happened that way.

Perhaps this creature simply liked walking whilst being able to fly and was generally disposed to aggression. That was entirely possible. 

But none of those possibilities address the mysterious ash. Was it carrying a torch beforehand, perhaps? That seems to be the most logical explanation for it. But then again, why run inside _then_ fight back with the torch, if it were already able to defend itself with it? And why light a torch in the middle of a clear, sunny day? A ceremony?

Something just doesn’t add up. Opher and Tuley also know of this.

They slowly emerge from a hole in the cavern wall, quiet as can be. Both hold out their weapons at the ready, the master with his staff and the gardener with his plough. They have steadfast, hardened grips, earned from years of toiling at their respective callings. 

Scanning the vicinity as they venture forth, they trample the footprints and avoid stepping on the green-hued, ash-speckled blood as much as possible.

The massive dome-shaped cavern lies before them. It is eerily silent, save for the occasional reverberations of water dripping from the many stalactites that reside here. The atmosphere is uncomfortably warmer with the increased lack of ventilation, and the wet limestone walls emanate a sharp, sour pungency that would wrinkle even the stuffiest of noses.

Still, it was the perfect environment for cultivating chordyberries -- all the way to even late autumn. The warmer the air; the more alkaline the soil; the sweeter and juicier they get. How that works eludes everyone but Tuley, who decided to spare everyone the explanations.

Nothing is strange with the entrance. Opher and Tuley glance at each other. They wordlessly nod, they steady their grips. They continue, halfway down the thin dirt path, sweat forming on their furrowed brows.

The jagged skylight lets in bright rays from above, shining white light into the cavern. The sunbeams spotlight the large, lone, bush-filled island ringed by a deep, dark pool (again, the perfect environment). A big rock sits at the island's north which, coincidentally, does face true North. 

And as Tuley and Opher step closer to the island, they see the first scorch marks that emblazon the dirt in black streaks. Soot collects on the soles of their feet as they soundlessly tread on the burned soil. 

They also notice that there is much more blood and ash here. Was this the impact zone?

Then they walk onto the island proper. They are soon surrounded by bushes that boast of their treasured produce, the amethyst berries ripe for the taking. 

They see no other creature, however.

Opher strains his ears. Tuley sniffs at the odorous air. There is nothing out of place other than what they had already seen.

Yet Tuley notices something. It causes his brow to furrow even further. He lowers his plough and points it out to Opher, who turns around with his staff still raised. 

The gardener refers to one of the smaller bushes amongst a new cohort, planted just a week ago. It is devoid of unripe berries at its current stage of development.

There should have been berries. Yet, the many empty stems tell all. 

Whatever it is, the creature hasn't -- or hadn’t -- left without taking something. It also isn't aware of the poison stored in juvenile chordyberries, it seems.

And Snappers most definitely do not eat berries.

"I'm starting to think this creature is winged," Tuley whispers, looking up at the skylight. "There's nowhere else to go. Unless … it could swim?"

"You're overthinking this, my friend," Opher then murmurs. 

"Look."

With the end of his staff, the weapon master points down to an unripe berry that lies on the ground, beneath the barren bush; right next to a hoofprint.

And then another berry, equally unripe, lies over there. Another hoofprint is over there, too. And yet another one, not too far off, with yet another berry.

One by one, Opher and Tuley follow the trail. They are led through rows of bushes, past a pile of extra gardening supplies along with an additional basket backpack. They avoid stepping on earthworms that inch their ways across the fertile ground. They would deal with them later.

The trail leads them to the large, egg-shaped rock, sunken halfway into the ground with moss beginning to climb onto its surface. It quietly sits there in the sunlight’s edge, glancing the island's boundary and almost touching the water.

The hoofprints lead to the back of the rock.

Quietly, Opher gestures for a pincer manoeuvre. He will also give a cue.

Tuley nods and silently splits off from him, plough raised once more.

They draw closer to the rock. It grows bigger as they approach. It eventually engulfs their vision.

On either side, Opher and Tuley press their sides against the sun-heated rock. They wipe the mantles of sweat that glisten their temples. They steady and silence their breathing as their fingers squeeze the wooden shafts of their implements.

All is still. A moment passes. Time stretches eternal seconds into brief aeons. 

Then, in the distance, a droplet of water drips from a stalactite’s needled tip. 

It lands in the pool, sending out a resounding ululation that fills the bated silence like a thunderclap.

"Now!" shouts Opher.

"aaaaAAAAAAHH!" hollers Tuley.

And as they spring from their hiding places, they quickly see -- with widened eyes -- hooved feet in the water, a mound of unripe chordyberries and a mouth stained with purple juice.

The creature slumps with her back against the large rock, her eyes closed. Her breaths are quick and shallow. Her chest rises and falls at alarming speeds.

Opher and Tuley lower their weapons in utter disbelief. They cannot understand what they are seeing. 

How is this even possible?! 

But this is no time for questions.

"Sūnwùkōng de húzi!" exclaims Opher, rushing over towards her. "Tuley, give me your basket! Hold my staff!"

"We must return at once!"

  
  
  
  


\- - -

  
  
  
  


_“I see a jug, and … it's pouring water.”_

“I see a Moki defeating a scary monster. But their ear got chewed off.”

Naru pauses at that. She clasps her hands atop her belly.

“Where’s that?” she then asks.

“Over there,” mumbles Ku, lazily lifting a wing and vaguely gesturing towards the sky.

“Ah, there it is,” lies Naru, though she did try to find it. “What a brave one, that one is.”

“Not as brave as Mokk, though.”

Naru falls silent again. A sudden smile crosses her lips.

“ … Am I hearing a crush?”

“Mama … !”

“Only teasing, dear. Only teasing.” 

"Hmm … " Ku relents.

With nothing better to do whilst waiting for the pair to return, Naru and Ku resorted to lying on the soft grass and saying what they saw in the clouds. A choice activity; one that keeps a child engaged with their wild imagination. Plus, Naru always loved hearing the goings-on inside her children’s heads. It keeps her own imagination active, too.

The scene is serene and quiet. A butterfly flutters nearby, landing on a flower for a spot of nectar before flying once more. They still hear the nearby stream ripple and rush as the sun shines down upon them, tempting them to go for a swim. Birds warble their assortments of songs around them; a contest with its echoes leaking out from another world impossible to comprehend.

They also heard a twig snap at one point, causing them to sit up in alarm and wait. 

Was someone there? Was some _thing_ there?

Then two minutes passed and nothing happened. They promptly went back to cloud-gazing, though left a little more on guard.

Ku continued. “I see … a really, really long crocodile.”

Naru, again, pauses. Then she says;

“I see a very cute owl.”

Ku squints at that. Her eyes comb the sky, trying to find what Naru described. She can’t see it, of course.

“Where is it?” Ku asks.

“Right here. In the grass,” Naru casually replies. "With me."

The owlet turns her head, only to see her mother smiling shrewdly at her.

“Mamaaa!” Ku bashfully whines, covering her face with her wings. “First the crush thing and now this?”

Naru laughs softly and sits up, gently pulling the owlet closer. Ku, in turn, makes sure her talons are retracted as she is drawn closer and climbs onto her lap. The mother then embraces the owlet with her big, tender arms and Ku immediately melts into its warmth, basking in the feeling of safety it gives her.

They stay like this for a while. Even though it’s already warm, Ku curls up in Naru’s embrace and Naru returns the gesture, squeezing Ku a little tighter, just a little, amongst the soft grass. 

Dust motes and dandelion seeds lazily drift around them, their drowsy presence betrayed by the sunlight. Cicadas continue to blare away as if joining the contest with the songbirds. A frog hops into view, croaks, then quickly leaves.

Ku, against Naru's chest, can hear her mother's strong, steady heartbeats. Little does the owlet know that they are for her.

Naru then leans down and presses a mild kiss to Ku’s forehead, also gently stroking her feathered back. Ku responds with soft clacks of her beak, her eyelids beginning to droop.

They were here. They were safe. They were together. And most important of all … 

“I love you, Mama," Ku says, looking up at Naru.

Naru looks down at her, absentmindedly fiddling with the ends of one of her feathers. All Ku can see is her mother's warm, warm smile. The owlet can see her visage reflected in dilated pupils.

“And I love you, too, my sparkling onyx gem.”

But good things only last for so long.

Like a stalactite that detaches from a ceiling, sudden cries shatter the moment.

“NARU! KU!"

"WE MUST GO!"

The abrupt noise causes Ku to jump and reflexively extend her talons, scratching her mother across the thigh. 

Naru yelps and quickly sets Ku to the side. She then carefully examines the wound, flinching and hissing through grit teeth when she touches it. It wasn’t too bad, but it was beginning to bleed nonetheless.

Opher and Tuley burst out from the vines at that moment. Opher now wears Tuley’s basket, and Tuley carries Opher’s staff along with his plough.

But Ku doesn't acknowledge them. Her little form was trembling, eyes wide open in clear distress as she kept looking at Naru's wound. “Oh, Mama, I-I’m so sorry, I -- "

She was cut off by Opher. The weapon master runs over to Naru and pulls her to her feet, apparently oblivious to the raw injury. “Naru. We need to return to the Glades. Now.”

Naru grunts as she stands up despite the cut. Her face scrunches up as she forces herself through it. Warm blood runs down her dark leg as scarlet rivulets leak onto the pale, sunlit grass.

“Oh, geez. Sorry about that,” Opher murmurs.

“Be right back,” Tuley then announces. “Naru, please sit.”

She quickly does so, essentially dropping.

They watch as the gardener runs off into the nearby thicket. They then observe as he raises Opher’s staff and slams it onto something. Soon, he returns with two handfuls of faintly glowing, semi-translucent, green-tinted gel. 

One is passed to Naru, who quickly smears it over the wound. She breathes a sigh of relief as the cool gel fills the incision and immediately begins to seal it; hardening into a firmer, jelly-like form that effectively staunches the bleeding.

Ku tries again. She walks over to Naru, her bloodied talon leaving little crimson marks on the dirt. “Mama, I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you, I swear, I -- ”

But Naru cuts her off.

“It’s fine, Ku,” she says, a little too quickly.

Naru doesn't look at her. She still examines the wound. Her brow is intensely furrowed. 

“It’s fine. I’m fine.”

This response silences the owlet, who averts her gaze and takes a step back. It is suddenly difficult to look at her victim now.

"If … if you say so … " she weakly manages.

Behind them, Tuley hurriedly approaches Opher. 

“Open the basket. Lay her down."

Ku and Naru raise their heads at that. They raise their eyebrows at each other.

Her?

They turn their heads and look with confused, quizzical expressions on their faces. Opher, slowly, drops to a knee. He slings the basket off his back. He then sets it on the ground. 

Grunting softly again, Naru stands. She easily walks over to the two of them. Ku is left to quietly trail behind her.

Both arrive just as Opher hastily unfastens the two clasps. The windless place leaves only their breaths the only breezes here. The stream continues its flowing course.

Then, the lid is flung open.

Naru lets out a sharp gasp. She takes a step closer and raises a hand to her mouth. Ku’s beak drops open. Her eyes widen at what she sees before her.

How … ?

How was this possible? _How_?

They watch as Opher lifts the shivering form. They watch as he places her on the grass.

They see ears like that of a dormouse’s. A gumdrop nose like that of a pine marten’s. A paintbrush tail like that of a ferret’s. And atop her head … !

With an uneven pair of antlers like that of a young spike buck, a wispy pure-white flame, similar in shade to the entirety of her glowing body, sputters dimly without a visible source -- hovering above her head; cradled mid-air, in the dead centre of her dissimilar, curved set of horns.

Naru and Ku can only watch, their voices stolen, as Tuley inserts the green gel into the Spirit Guardian’s stained mouth. Immediately, she heaves a dry, raspy breath as the medicine does its work. Her eyes fly open, revealing two trembling pinpricks of light amongst two orbs of darkness.

Then -- 

“H-huurgh -- !”

Opher quickly turns her face to the side as she coughs and retches, the gel-turned-emetic ridding some of the poison travelling through her system. The others respectfully look away.

“I’ve only bought her some time,” Tuley then states, cleaning his hands with another fallen leaf. “Opher, run ahead. You’re the swiftest amongst us. We will catch up with you. Go. Go!”

Opher then carefully scoops the spirit into his arms, making sure to avoid the flickering flame. On that note, how has the basket not burned yet? 

And just as he settles her into the basket, the spirit looks up and sees Naru, who has stepped even closer. Naru still covers her mouth. Her eyes are beginning to water.

The spirit then stretches a frail, trembling arm towards her and says one thing, just one thing; just above a whisper, that stabs Naru in the heart.

It is a name. A name that only two in this world would know. _Should_ know.

But now it is three.

"Nana … ?"

The lid is closed and fastened shut. The basket glows faintly from within.

In a blur of dull white, Opher bounds into the thicket. He climbs up a tree, swings and leaps from branch to branch, and eventually vanishes from sight as if he was never there. The ride back will probably cause his passenger to feel sick again, but what's at stake is much more dire than that. 

The remaining three continue standing in place. They stare at the spot where they last saw Opher as if trying to divine his location. The trees stare back at them, giving away no answers; no clues.

All of a sudden, Naru begins to run. She runs as fast as her stout legs can take her. Ku, too, begins to dash the moment she sees her mother take off.

"Mama … !" Ku calls out, opening her wings as she gains momentum.

Yet something holds her back.

_It's fine, Ku._

_I'm fine._

The owlet hesitates and falters in her step. She slows her pace, until stopping completely. She quietly folds her wings against her sides.

Then she watches Naru as she disappears.

Two remain, now.

Then one; as Tuley says he must protect Naru, should anything happen out there. He also tells Ku that she can just fly back when she's ready. It's a lot to take in, he knows.

Before she knew it, Ku was left alone.

The owlet turns back and walks around the empty clearing, her vision becoming unfocused as there is nothing to truly look at. She senses a dizziness mounting in her head as all she sees are blurs of increasingly meaningless, pale colours. She also grows warmer, though not from the sun.

She hurt her mother again.

She ruined everything.

Again.

She stops. She lifts her head. She sees the curtain of vines lit by sunbeams.

Ku looks at it for a while. She says nothing.

Then, slowly walking over, she casts her face in shadow as she looks down and passes through the entrance. The vines sway until finding stillness once more.

Maybe it'd be best if she left them alone, at least for now. They would help with things better than she could. What _could_ she do if she followed, anyway?

Not to mention, she had a job to do here.

None remain in the windless clearing. 

All is still.

Though not all is quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Told you it wasn't a self-insert. Throwback to chapter 1, anyone? Also yes, I did look up several species of deer and rodents to fill that description.
> 
> This is how her horns look like, though it's much bigger in the picture than what she has: https://sportingclassicsdaily.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/10/buck-004-copy-1080x675.jpg
> 
> This is what Opher said: 孫悟空的鬍子. Feel free to google translate, if you need to. Reminds me of another famous character.
> 
> And does anyone else think that uneven/asymmetrical/unequal things are pretty sometimes? Like heterochromia?


	6. A Promise Rekindled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things we think we lose have a way of coming back to us in the end.
> 
> Emphasis on 'think'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theme Song: "Light" by Sleeping At Last
> 
> https://youtu.be/ti_ogKJ7fGg

_There is a downpour in Nibel._

It is also late evening. As the sun had sunk behind Mount Horu several hours ago, the land was embraced by the thickening folds of the night. The moon and stars made their splendorous appearances, adorning the night sky like a scattering of diamonds on black gossamer. 

But no celestial body, nor could the collective light in the infinite cosmos be ever brighter than what is transpiring in Swallows Nest.

“Na - ru,” someone gently says. “Na - ru. Na …"

A finger then taps a glowing child’s trilliant-gem nose. "Ru!"

The child squirms and giggles in her embrace, its ears drooping in bashfulness before springing up once more. It then looks back at her with wonder-filled eyes; little stars in two dark seas. 

Naru is beholden to smile, too.

“O - ri.” She taps his chest, where his heart is.

Then she taps herself on the nose. “Na - ru.”

Back and forth this goes, as the rain outside falls steadily, the moisture revealed by silvery moonlight. Ori hasn’t spoken his first word yet, and Naru decided that he ought to know, first, the concept of names more than anything.

She still can’t believe how it happened. It was a dark and stormy night (very cliché, Naru knows) and all of a sudden a glowing leaf descends from the sundering sky. 

And from it, came Ori. This miracle happened just two weeks ago, but that is unimportant.

Naru continues her lesson. Her finger goes back and forth between them. "Na - ru. O - ri.”

Ori simply looks back at her each time, blinking once, then twice. Eventually, he curls up into a tighter ball and presses his face into Naru's soft chest.

Naru sighs, but looks to the cave entrance ringed with moonlight, a patient smile gracing her features. It was alright. She was still learning new things about creatures of light. There was plenty of time between them to teach; to learn.

But then --

"Na - na,” comes a fur-muffled voice.

Naru freezes for a second. When she looks down, Ori unfurls himself. Then he opens his eyes again.

It's only been two weeks, yet Naru knows she will never get over seeing him open his eyes. There is a certain beauty to it, an innocence she cannot explain. 

"Na - ru?" she asks, encouragingly.

Ori reaches out and places a palm to where her swelling heart is. "Na - na."

"No, no," Naru smiles, gently shaking her head. "Na - ru. Na - _ru_."

"Nana!" Ori proclaims, happily throwing his arms over his head. 

Looks like it's been decided.

"Okay, okay," Naru surrenders with a laugh, squeezing Ori with the best hug she could muster. "Nana is here, Nana is here."

Ori then yawns from the cosy warmth. His eyes disappear under drowsy eyelids, and his ears likewise droop as he curls up again. Then he smacks his lips and mumbles something incoherent, which causes Naru's heart to surge in new tides. His voice is so beautiful. So gentle, so kind. 

Radiant. That was the word.

"Do you want lulla?" Naru then whispers. "Does Ori want the lulla?"

Ori sleepily nods. He does want his lulla.

Naru is more than happy to oblige.

She begins to sing for him, tenderly rocking him, swaying in time with the tempo. 

  
  
  


\- - -

  
  
  


_The song is all Naru thinks of as she runs._

_Goodnight, goodnight, It's time now to sleep;_

She is almost to the Glades. The forest, the trees, the shrubs; everything around her dissolves into hazes of green and brown as tears begin to form.

_The moon's watching over, You and your dreams;_

Blinded and frantic, she trips on her foot. She yelps and falls, hard. Her teeth gnash together as her wound scrapes the ground. 

The semi-hardened gel breaks. It leaks and spills, re-releasing blood, aggravating the injury.

But she stands despite it, picking herself up as Tuley worriedly shouts from behind. She resumes running, as fast as she can.

_Goodnight, goodnight, My sweet little one;_

Naru bursts through the entrance. The sun above is bright as the Glades expand before her. She slows but doesn't stop moving. Her eyes scan the place. 

It doesn't take long to figure where she should go.

_Tomorrow your eyes, They will light up the sun._

Naru arrives at a congregation of Moki, who all look at her with eyes of wonder; eyes of shock; eyes of worry.

They part a path for the mother as she begins to wade through. The well, glowing bright, lies before her. Her wound continues to bleed, leaving trails of crimson on verdant blades.

_But goodnight, goodnight, Sweet dreams for now;_

She walks past Veral, past Grom. They are silent and solemn as they watch her.

She takes Gumo's hand and squeezes it, though not looking at him. Together, they step onto the pedestal, where Opher kneels. The basket he used is set to the side.

_Drift off to sleep, On your pillow of clouds;_

Opher stands. He turns around and sees Naru, who has let go of Gumo's hand. 

Opher cradles the spirit, whose eyes are closed. Her chest rises and falls steadily now, and the flame above her head is bigger and burns brighter.

_Goodnight, goodnight, My sweet little friend;_

Carefully, Opher places her in Naru's arms. She grunts and hisses as she sits. 

Gumo is quick to catch on. He cups a hand, dips it into the pool and sprinkles sparkling droplets onto the wound. It immediately seals up; flesh, skin, fur and all. Naru murmurs thanks to him.

The crowd around them continues to watch. Awestruck murmurs and prospecting whispers begin to roll through them all.

_Tomorrow's adventures, They will soon begin;_

The weight; the warmth in her arms is so, so dearly familiar. It was as if it was by design.

Naru begins to tremble. Tears and shaky sobs escape the cracks of her crumbling composure. She wraps her arms a little tighter around her. She begins to rock her body back and forth without fully thinking; without being aware of it.

To everyone's surprise, while her flame burns bright, none of Naru's hairs begin to burn, singe or smoulder. The same goes for Opher, who shows a group of curious Moki that he is unharmed.

Then, slowly, her eyes flutter open. 

_Tomorrow's adventures, Will soon begin._

She looks up at Naru. Naru slows her movements and looks back at her. 

A few silent breaths pass between them.

_I must look like a mess,_ Naru then realizes in a passing thought.

But the spirit cares not for that. She extends a hand and gently plants it flat on Naru's chest.

Where her heart is.

"Nana?" she whispers, her young eyes holding ages of recognition

And as Gumo and Opher, then Tuley, Veral and Grom, place their hands upon Naru's shoulders, the mother breaks down for the second time today. How she holds so many tears, Naru has no idea.

But Naru knows -- that in this very moment -- that sorrow has no hold of her heart.

"Yes, yes … ! Nana … Nana is here … !"

Naru raises a hand and gently wraps it around the spirit's hand. They hold them against Naru's chest. Their gazes towards each other never break; never falter.

"Nana is here … "

"I've always been here … "

  
  
  


\- - -

  
  
  


_Ori now sleeps soundly in Naru's arms._ His chest rises and falls in peaceful silence. He does not snore, nor does he wake to her snores. Naru secretly appreciates this arrangement.

She slowly stands. Treading lightly, her steps are cushioned by soft moss as she walks over to Ori's bed. Then, carefully, she settles him in his spreadings of plush, downy straw.

Naru stands there for a while. She watches him sleep, the height of his bed at the same, comfortable level with her eyes. The rain outside continues without let-up, also watering their indoor crops. Naru discards a piece of straw that Ori might breathe in. 

And while she is aware he cannot understand her as of yet, much less hear her, Naru begins to speak.

"I shall be your moon, Ori."

She continues with her oath. "I, Naru -- _Nana_ \-- promise to be your moon, to always stand close by your side, if you will always be my son; my sun … "

Naru reaches out and lightly strokes Ori's cheek. He quietly reacts, slightly tilting his head, leaning into her tender touch though not waking.

She smiles at her joy as the moon shines bright, reflecting the sun's rays in the form of gentle, silvery beams. If only her father were here to see this.

Naru finishes her oath.

"If you will always be my light. My Ori."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics from: "Lullaby" by Sleeping At Last
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OYnm3BLfTB8
> 
> Play it whilst rereading the middle part?
> 
> Also, the name for cutting gems in a triangular fashion is called a trilliant. The more you know.


	7. Eventuality & Comeuppances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seir has a few things come their way. 
> 
> One of them is giving a much-needed explanation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My first tentative steps into worldbuilding, asides from coming up with names for plants by scrambling their original names.
> 
> Also, if you haven't read the previous chapter, please do. My fic didn't move up to the top after I posted that last chapter.

_Word travels fast in a Niwenian afternoon._

Yet Seir heard it last. A day _after_ it happened.

This was not an issue for Seir, however. In one way or another, at some point in the universal, flowing river that is Time, they would eventually find whatever they might seek. It’s just a matter of waiting.

The news was that a group of woodland creatures had stumbled across "a peculiar newcomer that shouldn't exist." That same group, however, was also unwilling to disclose information regarding the circumstances in which they had found them.

Now that was unpreferable to Seir. They want to know everything. But again, that is no matter. They will find out eventually, should they want it.

And they do want it. They will it, even. It is what Seir is.

But by the names of all the Spirit Trees that exist and have existed in this world, Seir was surprised to see what Naru was carrying in her arms as she approached the hill. Not that anyone could tell that Seir, a faceless ball of light, had expressions to begin with.

It was also at that moment Seir knew they had plenty to explain. 

At least they knew where to start.

“I shall begin addressing this matter by stating that this has happened before,” announces Seir, swaddled in their throne of immature twigs and leaves. “This is an occurrence most unusual; not wholly unheard of, but to the point where her kind’s rarity leaves their existence unknown to most who walk this world.”

Seir was speaking to a great gathering composed mostly of Moki. Sitting in a tightly-packed bunch on the hill where Ori’s sapling grows on, they create a large patch of white and brown on the emerald-grassed, flowering mound. A bird from even the highest of heights would easily spot them like a beacon in the night. 

The same bird would also see great ones -- namely Baur and Mora -- in attendance. They had left their respective domains in search of the truth to a wondrous rumour. Both bear and spider remain at the back with the Moki as they simply observe, drawing their own conclusions. 

Lastly, Ku, Gumo, Naru and the supposed impossible newcomer (still being tenderly cradled) sit closest to the sapling in this bright, near-cloudless day. Seir’s voice is also audible for those close enough to Ori’s family, but those further back currently rely on relayed messages. This arrangement would no doubt lead to inconsistencies in future accounts.

Thankfully, however, Motay is also nearby as he feverishly scribes down each word. There would be no room for wrong interpretation with his new, faithful treatise. He would also have several Moki reproduce it en masse in future, as an insurance for the preservation of the knowledge they were to receive.

Seir continues speaking. Their rounded form pulsates with golden light on the stresses they place in their precise syllables. 

“As this is a subject foreign to most -- probably to everyone here -- I shall deign to answer questions as they come forth. It will be best explained this way. 

"So, go ahead. Ask your questions. One at a time."

With that, Seir falls silent and waits. The platform for dialogue is set; the way to finding answers laid out for those who seek them.

Ori’s surviving family members look at each other, waiting for the others to raise their question(s) first. This politeness, in turn, only keeps them in perpetual, awkward wordlessness.

There were so many things they didn’t know; so many questions they wanted to ask. Where could they begin? Where _should_ they begin?

But eventually, after a full minute of inaction passes, Gumo raises his hand. There being no one right way of learning something new is an ideal he recognizes foremost as an inventor.

“Speak, Gumon."

Gumo lowers his hand and steps closer. He looks down, unblinkingly, at the pinpoint of golden light that is Seir. “How did she get here? Aren’t you too young to be making new spirits?”

Seir gives their reply without hesitation, the sapling's few young leaves shifting with a slight, warm southern breeze. 

"That is correct, Gumon. But your question has a grey area. While Ori and I, are, indeed, too new _in this form_ to be producing new Light Guardians, it is in the process of joining that causes such ones to come into existence.”

Gumo’s features maintain neutralness as he crosses his pair of lanky arms. The common sign of a sceptic.

“Explain,” he then states.

Seir replies without pausing again. It is as if they had rehearsed the words countless times before. 

“I am certain you remember what happened that day. As he embraced me, we released an immense amount of energy across Niwen. It is in this release of power -- energy we have little control over -- that causes a miracle to occur. Aside from restoring an owlet's lame wing, of course.”

Ku looks down at that. Her feathers ruffle slightly as her talons shift on the ground.

Seir finishes their answer by saying, “That miracle is the birth of a leafless spirit.” 

Leafless spirit? Could there truly be such a thing? The question ripples through the crowd in hushed murmurs and whispers.

"See, there's also that," Gumo continues, still sounding doubtful. "I refuse to believe that such vast amounts of energy came from Ori alone. All that energy must have come from somewhere."

"And I agree, Gumon," they reply. This surprises Gumo, but he continues to listen intently.

"And you are correct. The abundance of Ancestral Light that Ori absorbed during his journey is instrumental in having this phenomenon occur. It is, in fact, a crucial step amongst other crucial steps."

Seir goes on to explain that this is the root cause behind the leafless spirit's extreme rarity. For something like the spirit in Naru's arms to come into existence, a set of specific circumstances must be fulfilled.

Namely: the death of a Spirit Tree, a number of guardians dying from the ensuing Decay, followed by one living spirit finding and absorbing their Ancestral Lights before merging with a Catalyst -- what Seir also is, aside from being a Will -- and finally releasing all that energy.

And then, and only then, would a leafless spirit be born. Such severe circumstances also only happen once every few centuries; the average lifespan of a Spirit Tree, which further adds to their uncommonness. A spirit could only live for so long, too.

Seir further adds to it, saying, "As I had said at the beginning: extremely rare; yet not unheard of. All that has happened to Niwen has happened before, across millennia, in various parts of the world. And such events will continue to happen.

"The battle betwixt Life and Decay is an endless one. But it is in the greatest of darknesses that the brightest of lights come into existence. They also serve to ensure, that as the land recovers from the ravages of darkness, that no possible resurgence of Decay might make the efforts of the previous spirit all for nought. They are a kindness; a gift to all."

This plethora of new knowledge is dispersed amongst the crowd. They understandably fall silent, save for a few whispers here and there. It is much to take in. 

"Last question," Gumo then pipes as he uncrosses his arms. "Why didn't you tell us about her if you knew of them? Each of the criteria you just mentioned had been met, right? We could have sought her out and found her much sooner, instead of having her wander Niwen alone, for -- I don’t know -- _the past two weeks_."

A majority nod to that sentiment. Why didn’t they inform them? But Seir's reply is simple. 

"I believed in them; that they would survive Niwen and eventually come to me. Such ones are exceptionally capable, hard-wired for battle and naturally built for survival in general. It seems that my faith was well-placed, based on the results today.”

Veral, somewhere in the crowd, secretly smirks to himself. Seir doesn't know about the chordyberries. He could not have asked for a better team.

"Is that all, Gumon?" Seir then asks.

Gumo swiftly bows. "From me, yes." 

"Then in that case, who is next?"

Gumo steps back and rejoins Naru and Ku. He waits for the next one to speak.

A moment passes. A flock of birds glide and squawk overhead, casting a blur of shadows upon the ground and those underneath it. Someone in the crowd coughs loudly, the ragged punctuations swelling, before eventually ebbing. Seir quietly waits with patience. It is a quality one attains after existing for several centuries.

Naru goes next. 

The mother sits on the grass, cradling the she-spirit currently awake. They look at each other in the eyes. Naru holds the spirit's left hand with her right.

"Seir," Naru begins, still looking down. "You kept saying 'her kind.' What is she? What is her kind?"

"The name varies from culture to culture," quickly answers the golden ball of light. "One place calls them the Leafless. Another region calls them the Treefree. I, personally, would call them Firstborns -- Grand Firstborns, if you will -- the first guardians to herald in a land's new age. It is fitting, don't you think?"

Naru ignores their question. She continues, "You said that this has happened before, that other spirits like her exist. Do you know anything about them? Is she like them?"

Seir discerns the true question underneath. 

"I assume you're asking to see what traits she might share with her rare brethren?"

Naru nods and looks up at Seir. Seir delivers their answer.

"Then I must tell you that there is very little similarity amongst them. Aside from the process that brings them to existence, every Grand Firstborn is wholly unique; incredibly different from one instance to the other. From their bodily features to the powers they possess, there is no discernable pattern to how their traits are selected."

To illustrate their point, Seir begins to recount some of the Firstborns they had heard about from faraway visitors from long ago, before Niwen’s descent into Decay. 

They start with Puy, the Cloudkin. 

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


_With tusks like that of a boar's_ , ears like that of a fox's and born with the fluffiest of tails (Seir says this, word for word), Puy's hooves never touched the ground as he floated for his entire life. 

Able to ascend to great heights and control clouds, he also could foretell incoming weather in the sky. His most remarkable skill, however, was turning most liquids, along with some solids with enough effort, into their gaseous forms. Once he did so, though, he could not return them to their original states. 

His potential truly shone during attacks (something apparently commonplace) in an encampment he stayed in, one similar to that of the Glades. Thick, massive clouds would descend from nowhere and completely obscure the place, disorienting the enemy whilst allowing his friends to escape.

Then, one by one, Puy would evaporate the enemies' bodily fluids. Their sweat, blood and tears would scatter to the wind as the reddened, foul-smelling clouds dispersed, leaving dry husks to crumble to the ground.

“Whoa … ” The sentiment echoes through the crowd. 

Ku's eyes are wide as she nods, the owlet probably the most impressed of all of them. She does love a good story.

“The visitor further told me that Puy had quite the green thumb,” says Seir's luminous voice. “He loved the earth despite his title as Cloudkin, and his ability to create small rainclouds ensured that all those who lived with him always had enough to eat and drink.”

Tuley, some distance away, sighs longingly. A kindred spirit (ha!) he would never meet.

Seeing that everyone is interested, Seir continues, secretly basking in the attention. They begin to tell of Aanu, the Vitalis.

Among the smallest of guardians to ever exist, with a form as bare as a blank canvas save for being hornless and having a lamb’s tail that shivered a little too much, this plain-looking spirit had the remarkable ability to heal others.

That is, by taking their injuries and ailments as her own.

She also had the inner skill of automatic and constant regeneration, causing her to never get sick by herself whilst ridding of any imperfections she might have taken on. It was a subtler yet more profound art, the visitor commented.

A common cold or headache would simply vanish. Scrapes and cuts would close in seconds, whilst deep gashes and bad burns would take a minute or two. A crippling lung disease? Three days. A recently broken femur? Five days. A completely severed arm? A week, if the patient was still alive for the transfer.

But there had been a time where Aanu refused to use her powers. 

It was understandable. Her abilities stretched only so far, and she was not exempt from feeling the pain that might come with those ailments and/or injuries. She learned of this through curing someone who had accidentally eaten a toxin that causes one’s throat to turn into stone. Because of that incident, for a time, she used every means possible to avoid situations where she would be pressured to use it again, at least to that degree.

After all, who would be willing to throw themselves into so much pain; to feel like dying time and time again? Would she have to do this for her whole life, too? And why?

It wasn’t long before life gave her its answer.

"It took the loss of an innocent child, whose means of death was something Aanu would have survived had she taken it upon herself, to give her her motive to use her powers," Seir reveals. "She wasn't exempt from reaping what she had sown, either. The child’s parents openly condemned her for her cowardice, and the majority of her land agreed."

The crowd is quiet as they continue listening. Such a poignant course of events.

"But, at least from that point onwards, for the rest of her life, Aanu took on the physical sufferings of others as her own, at least to an extent she could tolerate. This was so that no-one would suffer from her actions. Or lack thereof."

Seir then finishes Aanu's tale by adding, "I shall let you be the judges of her character at the end, but I will say this: guilt and generosity are often better friends than you might think."

Ku stares ahead into space. Suddenly, the stories don't seem that appealing anymore. She quietly averts her gaze again, looking at the fallen, broken remains of the Spirit Willow in the distance.

"I know a few more,” Seir also reveals. “But that will be all regarding other Grand Firstborns for today. At least you all know, now, that there is no rhyme or reason regarding the selection of their physical traits and powers. 

“Are there any more questions?” they then ask.

Motay, still nearby, is starting to run out of pages. He has underestimated how much he needed. His handwriting is much smaller and cramped now, which wreaks havoc on his wrist as he tries to keep up. He keeps reminding himself that this will all be worth it.

Naru quietly raises her hand.

"Speak," comes the luminous voice.

Naru hesitates. She lowers her arm. The entire time Seir was speaking of Aanu and Puy, the mother had been looking at them. Now, she looks back down at whom she cradles, who returns her gaze. Naru seems to muster up the courage needed to convert her thoughts into words.

Stroking the she-spirit’s cheek, Naru, carefully, posits, "Can Firstborns inherit memories from their previous spirits?"

“Already?” Seir asks, her rounded form glowing enthusiastically. “It is interesting for you to know about that so early. How precocious.”

"I've had my ideas, but I just wanted to make sure," Naru replies.

This rightly stirs the crowd. Everyone turns to each other as voices imbued with newfound hope swell forth. The spirit in Naru’s arms blinks blankly, oblivious to what this could mean for her. The mother, meanwhile, keeps her face -- and most importantly her heart -- neutral.

Naru surprises herself with her emotional fortitude. She has grown stronger. Or has she been drained because of what happened just yesterday? Naru doesn't know.

But does Seir’s response mean what they think it means? 

Does this new spirit have Ori’s memories?

Seir gives their answer.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


_“In answer to your question, yes._ Grand Firstborns can inherit memories from their predecessors. Emphasis on 'can'. Between the two I told you about, coincidentally, Aanu received memories whilst Puy did not."

This elicits a quieter, though more reverent response from everyone present. Baur and Mora, still in the back, look at each other upon receiving their relayed messages. _How interesting_ , they think.

But Seir adds, “But not all memories are passed on, should something like Aanu's case happen."

They give another illustration. 

It is like trying to repair an old, large, chipping and utterly complex cave painting which has had an axe brought against it. Regardless of the number of hours put into it, despite the number of sections restored, it is simply impossible to regain the full picture. There are too many gaps with almost nothing to fill them with.

But there is a silver lining. The one restoring it might recognize what has been repaired, though not being the one who first painted it. Rather, they are seeing the footsteps of the one before; an echo into the past.

“Simply put, Grand Firstborns only know of what their predecessors had known. They also do not make those memories their own, meaning that they do not take the place of the old spirit in those memories," Seir explains. “It is very similar to looking at a picture, after all. You only see the paint, not the thought process behind it."

"And even then, they do not remember the whole past life -- only fragments. As to what fragments or what memories they may have, only time will tell as they live their days; slowly recollecting things along the way."

Naru and Gumo exchange worried glances at that. Their worries are reasonable.

What does this spirit know about them? It is clear she knows Naru, but what of Gumo, for example? Does she know they became good friends after Nibel's blindness? Does she know that Gumo resurrected Naru? Or does she only know the traps Gumo subjected Ori to in his old hideout?

And that's just Gumo. What about the many, many others? Kuro? Kwolok? Seir? Shriek, even? What of their respective deeds? Their memory may have so many gaps. It is easy to read things the wrong way without the full picture.

They might not even exist that much in her mind.

But someone is not too worried about that.

"So, she _isn't_ Ori, then."

All nearby heads turn towards a certain owlet. 

Ku's brow is creased. She looks down at Seir, the white section of the owlet's visage tinged with golden light. Her concern lies elsewhere.

"Like, not reborn? Not even a little?" Ku half-heartedly persists, the light in her eyes slowly fading.

Gumo gently pats her on the feathered back, the Gumon's eyes frowning. Naru looks at Ku as well, the mother’s lips likewise drooping.

They understand. Everyone close by understands, too.

"Not even a little, little owlet," Seir confirms, their answer firm; the truth made plain. "The one you knew is undoubtedly gone. But take solace in the fact that he now lives in a new, glorious form. One that will see the flourishing of many generations to come. Even you, if you choose to stay here."

That does little to comfort Ku. The owlet shrugs away from Gumo and returns to looking at the fallen Willow. A look of hurt flashes past the Gumon's face before it reassumes neutralness. Naru watches them, silent as she holds the spirit close.

Everyone understands that, too. But Ku wasn't done yet.

"Will you take her away?" she then asks with a low voice, her tone thoughtful.

Behind her, Gumo and Naru are taken aback. They were supposed to ask this question. She must have overheard them discuss it last night. Floorboards aren't too soundproof, they then realize.

Ku gives the golden ball a side-eye. "Mama said she hid Ori from the Spirit Tree back in Nibel. Because she didn't bring him back, the Spirit Tree couldn't make her return him. But we brought this one to you. Will you take her away?"

"Ku?" Gumo asks, wondering where this is coming from. But Ku does not look at him. Naru says nothing, but her hold on the spirit tightens slightly.

What immediately meets them is silence. For the first time in this conversation, Seir does not quickly respond.

The wind around them continues to blow, though it has changed direction. It comes from the north now, rather than the south. A lingering breeze of the never-ending winter.

Yet for some inexplicable reason, in the confines of a fleeting second, Ku feels a warm, uncomfortable tingling sensation in the centre of her forehead. It is as if something was boring a hole into her skull, into her brain.

Her instincts tell her that Seir is looking directly at her, regardless if they didn't have a face to begin with.

But Seir then speaks before she does. The sensation vanishes along with the broken quietude. Did Ku imagine it?

She hopes she did.

"No. I will not take her away," they answer, their words precise as ever. "It is tradition for someone to look after them, be it other spirits or local denizens, until they become of age. Like any other. 

“Besides, she and Naru seem happy together. Don't you think so, little owlet?"

And that was it. Ku looks away, not saying anything further. Gumo doesn't raise his hand to touch her again. Naru remains silent as she relaxes her grasp on the spirit.

Not everyone understands that.

"Does anyone have any more inquiries?" Seir then asks.

Naru returns her gaze upon them. The mother gives a curt nod, her moon-coloured visage tinted with a faint blush of gold as well.

"Just one," Naru says. "Can you tell us what she can do? Is that something you can do?"

"But of course," Seir replies. "Come. Place her before me."

The mother obliges. She gets on her knees and crawls over to Seir. 

The lush grass is a serviceable cushion. The she-spirit reaches out to Naru as the mother steps back. “Nana?” she meekly says.

"Nana is here, my dear," Naru reassures her with a smile. "It'll be just a bit. I promise."

She seems to understand. She then retracts her hand and looks at Seir, who, from her perspective, is eye-level with her. Her pure-white flame, in return, flickers against their juvenile seat of twigs and leaves.

She then watches as several threads of light extend from Seir's pinpoint. They touch her chest, her wrists, her ankles, her temples, her hovering flame. Golden energy pulses along the wispy wires as Seir takes in the information.

“Hmm … how interesting … " Seir says.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


_Some minutes pass after Seir makes that comment._ The hill is filled with bated silence. Several Moki even try to sneak in a quick nap. The few clouds dotting the firmament cast drowsy shadows upon them. Eventually, Seir retracts their tendrils.

"If it is not obvious already, she possesses powers regarding the flame," they say, a little condescendingly. "As for the specifics … "

Seir pauses for the second time. Those close by lean in, their ears open wide with excitement. They are eager to learn what this being can do.

Motay, also nearby, has officially run out of pages. 

_Not good, not good!_ he frantically thinks to himself. His aching hand trembles as he looks around, trying to find _something_ he could write on until -- aha!

Motay then snatches one of Lupo's maps and begins writing on its empty side despite the cartographer’s protests.

Seir picks up where they left off, arriving at a choice whilst unaware of the effort nearby. "I shall tell you only two things. This is so that several general worries may be lessened. As for the other things … it is best if you find out for yourself.”

Seir first informs them that the fire is inextinguishable. No amount of water, wind or even burial can put it out. For as long as she lives, it shall burn.

"So … this means we can give her baths?" Naru asks.

"Ice baths, hot spring baths, dust baths, whatever," they reply. "Just know that if she is submerged, specifically in liquid, whatever abilities she has will be greatly weakened until she has dried herself. The flame will shrink as well, but that will be normal.”

This, and no joke, was one of the conundrums Naru and Gumo faced last night. _How do we clean her?_ was the simple question with an answer difficult to find.

They eventually settled on using damp cloths. It had been the safest option at the time when they thought the flame might go out if it simply touched water. But now they know.

Seir continues. They go on to explain the nature of her fire, and how her willpower controls it. Essentially, unless she truly wants something to burn, it shall not burn -- even if something highly flammable touches it.

"I shall demonstrate this, in fact," Seir announces. “For this, I invite Ori's family to partake in an experiment."

Gumo and Naru exchange curious looks. Ku gives Seir a suspicious side-eye once more.

“Look at the grass beneath you," Seir goes on to say. "Each of you take some and make a wick with a good length. I believe the owlet will require assistance for this one.”

Might as well follow. Seir told them what would happen and they had no reason to lie about it.

“I’ll help you, Ku,” Gumo offers as he drops to a knee. He begins to quickly pluck at the grass with skilled, spindly fingers. Some things get easier to do with time.

But as the Gumon is picking out the longer ones he could find, he feels something gently butt against his arm. He lifts and turns his head to see Ku standing there, her eyes downcast. Her talons shift on the ground as she looks at them. She seems nervous.

“Sorry. About all that stuff earlier. About stepping away,” Ku says. “I also shouldn’t have listened in last night. I won’t do it again, I promise.”

“Hey,” Gumo then asserts. “Look at me.”

Ku lets out a soft sigh. Then she slowly raises her head. 

To her relief, instead of a face stricken with anger or worry, the owlet sees a grin graced with forgiveness. A firm hand then lightly strokes her back as Gumo leans in and touches their foreheads together. Ku softly coos and gently pushes back, glad that at least Gumo isn’t mad at her.

He then leans away. “It’ll be just a minute,” he swiftly informs her. Ku nods and lets him do his work.

And so she waits, casting occasional looks behind her, nodding to some of the Moki. She sees a young one chase a butterfly, a parent trailing after them. A poor worm then emerges and Ku quickly eats it. Rustlings emanate from Naru and Gumo as they spin the blades. 

Not too long later, three wicks of grass are made.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


_Seir then says,_ “Gumon, you go first. Put your wick to her flame.”

Heeding the ball, Gumo steps closer to the spirit who has not left Naru's arms since this morning. Asides from blinking quietly, she doesn’t react as he crouches before her. Gumo makes sure to smile as he does.

"Hello there, little one," Gumo softly says as the flame reflects in his eyes. "Would you mind if I just … "

And as he trails off, Gumo raises the wick. The crudely wrapped-together blades grow paler and paler as it nears her, until --

It doesn’t set alight. It passes through the unceasing flame, unharmed. White licks of light curl around it and the green colours maintain. 

Gumo’s eyes are wide as he lets out an awestruck chuckle, followed by several excited murmurs from behind. He extracts the wick and carefully examines it. It wasn't a trick. It truly did not burn. 

"Well, I'd never," grins Gumo. He then looks at her. "Thank you, little one."

And to his surprise, she nods at him, her dormouse ears flopping slightly. 

“Your turn, Naru,” Seir then says. “Put your wick to the flame. But this time, make your hand pass through it. You will be alright, I guarantee it."

But Naru understandably hesitates. She looks at the spirit in her arms, who simply looks back at her with curling swishes of her ferret tail. 

Grass was one thing. A hand was another. It was quite the leap.

"Remember," Seir prompts her. "Nothing burns unless she wants it to burn. She sees you as her guardian. She would never dare hurt you."

By the names of all Spirit Trees, Naru hopes they mean it.

Closing her eyes and sucking in a deep breath, Naru steels herself. She then looks away and grits her teeth as she plunges her hand into the flame, to the gasps of those behind her.

The spirit smiles up at her as she does so.

Like the wick Naru holds, she is unharmed. She returns the she-spirit's bright smile with one of her own, before releasing a laugh. Out of relief or wonder, no-one knows. Ku just stares as words fail her, her beak dropped open.

“How does it feel?” Seir asks.

“It feels wonderful!” Naru exclaims as she retracts her hand. And as she does, little white wisps of harmless flame linger on her dark fur. They then sputter out completely, leaving everything intact.

“Wonderfully warm … " Naru murmurs, a reverent smile on her lips.

And it is now Ku’s turn. 

"Just do as the Gumon did, little owlet," Seir instructs her.

"You know you can call me Gumo, right?"

"Hush, Gumon. Just watch."

"Sheesh."

With her wick in her beak, the owlet is careful not to look at Naru. She only focuses on whom she cradles. Naru is blissfully unaware that this is intentional.

The she-spirit is quiet. She simply blinks at the owlet as Ku steps closer. 

Then, slowly, Ku begins to lean in. The she-spirit's set of dissimilar horns grow larger in her vision as if approaching an ancient gateway. The owlet's face grows warm as she nears even further. She then realizes that there is no sound to her flame; no sounds of crackling wood and the like. It is completely silent.

Until she stops.

Ku, for some reason, stops.

The wick is halfway through the short distance that separates them. The flame continues to flicker mid-air before her eyes, in the middle of the horns. Ku's black pupils reflect the bright light like still, dark lakes.

Then she drops her wick. It lands without a sound. It rolls some distance away from her.

This was not what Seir had told her to do. But featureless as can be, they simply watch on. Everyone around them watches on, too.

Ku stands normally again. She looks upon the flame, whose owner simply looks back at her. Ku blinks. She blinks. The ferret tail swishes. A dormouse ear twitches.

Then Ku opens a wing; the one that was restored. Her pupils dilate even further as she continues to stare. She is mesmerized by how it curls and twists, how it is suspended by nothing and burns without a source. 

How fascinating. How otherworldly.

How … beautiful.

And with confidence, Ku reaches for it with her wing.

This, sad to say, was a mistake.

The she-spirit’s brow collides like tectonic plates as the feather at the end of Ku’s wing ignites into ivory flames.

The owlet screams in panic. She jumps back and frantically waves it around, trying to put it out. Shouts burst forth from all around her; a meaningless blur of noise like waves in an endless, sundering sea.

"Go out! Go out!" Ku shouts, her terror rising in shrill tones. "My wing! NOT MY WING!"

But she can't put it out. It is spreading and she is worsening it by fanning it. Three feathers burn!

Now four! Five burn!

Seven -- 

Just then, Gumo leaps in. He seizes Ku by the wing and begins plucking off the burning feathers, causing the owlet to cry in pain. She tries to pull away to no avail as the Gumon does his frantic work, even pulling off ones that are not alight.

Then agony erupts through Ku's entire arm as she slips. She falls.

She twists her wing. Hard.

And Ku shrieks into the sky above, the firmament of blue that called to her.

"AAAHHHHHHH!" 

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


_They scatter to the ground._ Those that burn twist and shrivel mid-descent, transforming into smoke amid white flames. The ashes fall onto the unlit wick; a black blacker than her feathers against verdant green, as if in mockery towards the owlet. Gumo finally releases her, the Gumon stumbling back. But unlike Ku, his hands are unharmed.

And with tears spilling forth from fearful, humiliated, fire-coloured eyes, Ku runs off and takes flight with what feathers that remain. She forces herself to fly despite the shock that throbs in the joint that connects the wing to her torso.

"Ku!" Gumo calls to her, reaching to the sky. Naru calls out, too, but it is too late. They can only watch as she shoots towards Glades. Everyone in the crowd looks on as her dark airborne form wavers. Then she vanishes over the tree canopy.

Even Motay has stopped writing. He is on his third map now. Lupo doesn't even notice as he takes a fourth.

But one by one, all eyes return to Seir. This is the third time they have paused. It is quite a while before they speak again.

"How unexpected," they eventually say, their words punctuated by soft flashes of golden light. "But she shall be alright. There is a well in the Glades, if I recall correctly."

"Why … why did her feathers burn, but not ours? Our wicks?" Gumo asks, still mortified. He stares at the ashes beneath his feet. They have begun to drift away, grain by grain, by the cold, lingering northern wind.

The words Seir says are simple, yet it's the answer that carries the weight of forgotten worlds.

"Because she doesn't recognize her. That spirit has absolutely no knowledge regarding that owlet. It also seems her foremost instinct is self-preservation towards unfamiliar things, based on how she burned that Snapper and now her."

Snapper … ?

Then it dawns on Naru. Seir has revealed a new truth. And quite intentionally, by the looks of it.

"You … you know what she's seen? What she's been through? What she _knows?_ "

"I do," calmly answers Seir. "I have learned everything about her just a few minutes ago. I know her skills, her time in Niwen thus far, the poisonous berries … and what memories she currently has. And I have Naru to thank for letting me see. But it’s quite a pity, I must say. Tragic, even; being the only one whom she doesn’t know, though she should.”

Veral, somewhere in the crowd, shakes his head. But he doesn't blame Naru. She couldn't possibly have known.

The breath in Naru's throat seizes up. She raises a hand to her mouth and looks down at the she-spirit, who is unaffected by it all. She simply doesn't know what she did.

Gumo now steps forth and approaches the sapling, its young leaves swaying in the breeze. He easily towers over Seir. His hands ball into tight fists.

"You said that this was an experiment," Gumo shouts. "You lied to us!"

"It _was_ an experiment. _My_ experiment,” Seir replies. “Ku was my subject, and her reactions to having the only burning wick and the explanation that would follow was what I sought. And you followed through with it, regardless if you agreed to it or not. But I did not expect her to touch it with a wing. I never told her to do that.

“That owlet tends to fly too close to the sun. But she is how we got here, no? Partly, anyway. Ori told me a great deal on our way to Willow’s End.”

Gumo's fists shake by his sides. His brow has contorted into something foreign to him. Never has he felt such anger before, not even during Nibel's Decay. 

"You horrible … _evil_ … _fiend!_ I'm -- I'm going to -- !"

"Oh, I'm evil now?" Seir coldly asks. "After all that I have done? And what are you going to do? Kill me? Kill Niwen? Kill _Ori_? You _dare_ to even think of -- "

Seir is then silenced as a fist then the ground next to them, the whole plant shivering slightly from the impact. Gumo grits his teeth, his seething breaths draw heavy. Golden light fills his shrunken pupils.

“ _You_ dare toy with a child’s heart?!”

But a voice cuts through the molten rage building up within him.

"Gumo. Please, spare yourself.”

Naru approaches him from behind and slips a free hand into his. Her voice is soft but firm. She doesn't look at Seir. Seir is highly aware that this is intentional.

"They aren't worth getting angry over. We have an owlet we must comfort. To explain this to."

It was true, and Gumo realizes this. He also couldn’t hurt Seir, let alone touch them. But still … !

“Do not let a moment’s anger cause years of regret, Gumo. Please, let us go.”

Naru’s voice was always gentle. Soothing. But there was a new firmness to it that anchored Gumo to reality.

And for it, Gumo was grateful. He massages his aching hand as he stands and takes a step back, just as the first few begin to leave. 

Baur and Mora leave first with several passengers on their backs, simply nodding to each other before parting ways and vanishing into the forest, returning to their domains. This had been an interesting diversion. They expect to correspond regularly regarding future developments.

The Moki leave next. They leave as a whole, then break up like river waters that become streams, brooks and little canals of brown and white. Motay is also amongst them, trying to convince Lupo that his writing would benefit future generations and that writing on his maps helped ensure that. Or something like that. The cartographer is almost certain that the salamander is trying to find a better, less expensive deal.

Naru and Gumo’s friends then depart. Veral, Tuley and Opher nod to Naru, and Grom to Gumo. They would see them later.

Eventually, Gumo, Naru and the she-spirit are all that are left with Seir. They begin to leave, hand in hand.

But Seir calls out to Naru. 

“Naru, I have one last question before you go.”

She knows she shouldn’t answer. She knows she shouldn’t entertain them. Not after making Ku a mere plaything. A ‘test subject,’ as they had put it.

“When I looked into her recent memories, I saw that you were discussing names with Gumo last night. Smart decision; not naming her until you knew if you could keep her or not. Yet you simply couldn’t have helped yourself, could you?”

Naru stops at this for some reason. Gumo doesn’t notice until he tugs on her hand. He stops, too, and turns back. He says nothing but averts his gaze.

Seir then finally asks their question. 

“But now that you may, what shall her name be?”

Naru now looks back at Seir. Her plain face betrays nothing as the spirit in her arms looks at Seir as well.

“And why should I tell you?” Naru asks.

Naru could have simply said ‘why?’ She could have spewed insults before asking why. She also could have tilted her head slightly and made a wordless inquiry. All would have sufficed, some more than others.

But with whatever version she might have come up with, it wouldn’t have mattered. Her question would have been the same.

Their answer, likewise, would also have been the same.

“You might as well. I _will_ know, should I will it. It is what I am, and it is what I shall always be.”

And Naru knows she cannot change anything about it. No-one could.

So she might as well, as Seir had said.

“Her name shall be Shumi. My third, beloved child.”

“And so from this day forth, let it be known that her name is -- ”

But Naru cuts them off. A smile graces her lips as she speaks. The spirit in Naru’s arms smiles, too.

And Seir is the only one who sees Shumi smile.

“And though you may have our respect, including hers, it is us that she shall love."

"I do not require love to function," retorts Seir.

Naru's smile widens even further.

"I think the sapling that sustains you says otherwise."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... worldbuilding AND Drama. Just couldn't resist. 
> 
> Also, if you have read all that, congratulations! You've just read 21 pages from my google doc. I admire your enthusiasm about this story, but as Honda-san once said: thanks, but please reconsider!
> 
> Names!  
> Puy = ปุย  
> Aanu = (translate from Yoruba)  
> Shumi = شمعة
> 
> And as always, thank you for reading, and I sincerely hoped you enjoyed all ... that. Whatever that was.


	8. A Lantern in a Shroud Thicker Than Fog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A guest's stay is made permanent over lunch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prepare for a more Gumo-centric chapter, though the other characters have their parts, too.
> 
> Chapter Title and Summary inspired by "Fukurou" by KOKIA. 
> 
> Link: https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=ZN91_Kb8Mbc

_What they had thought would happen was a blinded arrow’s shot in the complete opposite direction to where the target was._ If anything could be taken from that statement, it would be that no Glades dweller is a future-seer, along with the fore fact that no-one in the Glades is a mind-reader, either. Only two in all of Niwen could fit each of those descriptions, and Baur was the former.

Whilst returning to their new home with the sun above ascending to its afternoon zenith, Gumo and Naru heavily discussed what they should do. A loved one's happiness was at stake and a tricky devil stood posed against them, residing in the details of the pursuit they wanted to see accomplished. That being said, a careful exorcism, so to speak, was called for.

They braced themselves for the worst, namely facing a child who might refuse to talk to them after being humiliated in broad daylight. They also firmly agreed on not telling her that she had been made into Seir's 'test subject' as Ku needed comfort; not more reasons for having her, a child, feeling more emotions she never should have to feel. All that, and spiteful antagonization never helped anyone in the long run.

And the more they talked about it, the more likely this scenario would seem to be the case. 

But what had greeted them, what had pulled the rug from underneath their feet as they stepped through the rounded doorway to their two-story home was a warm-hearted atmosphere; comprised of softly-bubbling, aromatic fish stew and the crackling of heartily burning, fragrant oak wood in the cosy fireplace. 

“ ... Ku?” Naru cautiously called out, her voice emerging like a bear slowly coming out from wintry hibernation. It didn’t take long for the owlet to turn around with a bright smile on her face.

“Lunch will be ready soon!” Ku chirped. Then she turned back to the cauldron before Gumo and Naru could get a word in edgewise, leaving them stunned.

At least they would no longer need canteen food, which would help. They required privacy for this sensitive matter. But the same matter was also suddenly introducing new depths like an insidious fog seeping into a wood. 

The door was shut with those sobering thoughts. Gumo and Naru also, unknowingly, had shared the same ideas.

This was very, very different from what they had anticipated.

Shumi, on the other hand, had not expected anything and was quiet as she was placed down to stand. She softly yawned whilst stretching her glowing, spritely form, pins and needles buzzing in her legs. This is what happens after being cradled for the entire morning. Not that she minded too badly, of course. 

"I washed my talons three times before cutting stuff up. I also used them to spark the fire," the owlet promised, her feathered back still turned to them. Then she added, "Oh. I also cleaned the place since she's gonna be staying."

All of this was true, though the last part was the only verifiable thing. The floor had been swept with her wing (as she explained), the plants outside had been watered and Ku even rearranged her room to make more space for Shumi. Her loft, already within the sixteen days they’d stayed here, had accumulated a slight yet tolerable mess to it. But the tidiness was nonetheless a welcome sight.

An ominously welcome sight, if that was even possible; which, as was demonstrated by the owlet, quite was. The atmosphere had a jarringly subtle sensation to it, as if stepping into another dimension full of near-invisible, yet perfumed smoke and slightly, just slightly, distorted mirrors wherever one went.

Was this the Ku they knew and loved? Was this the same world they had lived in with all of their lives thus far? Or was this all a dream? An illusion?

A lie?

Clearly. Gumo and Naru weren't entirely gullible. It was as obvious as the stew's fishy aroma.

But this knowledge, in either case of knowing or not, did little to reassure them. In fact, it further worried them for its degree was worse than they had thought.

Ku was suppressing something behind that cheerful attitude of hers, so they’d decided. It was easy to figure out what, too, given the recent happenings, as they too decided. It further made her into a ticking time bomb barely hidden in see-through shrouds, eradicating 'if' and replacing it with 'when' in regards to the fiery implosion.

Yet again could she, a child with what just happened, be blamed for both her choice of action and weaving the veil of normalcy a bit too thick, thus defeating its very purpose in hiding the truth? 

Had Veral been here, he would have answered that question by getting offended and giving her lessons on how to properly deceive. Her inexperience, however, in this fine-lined artform would not be the only reason for his would-be doing so.

_All lies are deception, though not all deceptions are lies_ , is a principle Veral uses to justify himself.

The cook was not above deception. He promoted it with a deft, selective choice of words and a thorough incorporation of it into his work -- unless it was harmful to others and himself. And Veral, a maestro of tasteful trickery, has never lied to himself.

This was the difference between him and Ku.

Lying to one’s self is a destructive practice, especially if one knows the truth. Further, it -- the truth -- becomes a cruel, inward burden that grows heavier every day, regardless of how high one may fly. 

And Ku, it seems, was quite capable of doing both.

“Lunch is ready!” Ku then cheers before adding: “Hope you like it. Shumi.”

All that, cooking, and even more.

It's just a matter of time before the symptoms show themselves.

  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


_The situation's dreary oddity didn't lessen for Gumo._ Whilst they ate, the owlet lightly hummed to herself as she pecked out cream-stewed fish bits. Most would have agreed, Gumo included, that this was rather merry-go-lucky for someone who nearly went up in flames but two hours ago, by a sentient ball of golden light’s manipulative whimsy. 

Yet this was what he had wanted to see, along with Naru. They simply wished to see Ku be happy and for her to live a life as such. This was what they were seeing, right before their very eyes, eating a delicious lunch with them.

But seeing is not always believing. Gumo knew this now.

This -- _this_ was simply too much. It was too unnatural; completely fake; an obvious disguise of pitiful happiness. _This_ was not what he truly sought after, though he had wished for it. The devil in the details, it seems, had deceived him by turning his well-intentioned imagination -- something highly vulnerable to inaccuracy without fact-checking -- against him and presenting it as airtight truth. He was now reeling from his unwitting mistake, suffering the collateral consequences in depths deeper than he could have grasped.

_All this, from a single lie a child spins_ , he wanly muses. Lies are truly something to behold. They only grow and spread like weeds that choke up the good plants in any garden.

So begs the question: how would he go about fixing this? He was a fixer by nature, was he not?

Thus, throughout the silent meal, Gumo exchanged wordless conversation with Naru. It went as follows, beginning when his eyes met hers in quiet, wood-crackling crossing:

Gumo slightly tilts his head towards Ku, who’s still eating. _Acting very strange._

From across the loose circle they sit in, Naru raises a nonexistent eyebrow. _Obviously?_

Gumo is inwardly relieved he is not the only one who notices. So he returns the eyebrow with one of his own. He lightly pouts his lower lip. _Ask her why she acts strange?_

Naru shakes her head whilst biting her upper lip. _Won't help._

The Gumon raises his other eyebrow. He begs for a second opinion. _What, then?_

The mother then stirs her stew but otherwise does nothing. No reply. A sign for him to think. The answer is apparently close at hand.

So, think he does. He eats a spoonful of creamy fish. He bites. He chews. He swallows. 

Then Gumo leans back. His face relaxes, too. He nods.

And Naru nods back in confirmation.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  


_Naru knows he has realized something._ His expression tightens when faced with a problem and relaxes when arriving at a solution, or at least an idea for one. So she nods in confirmation. Wordless conversation has become a habit of theirs.

Naru honestly has no idea what he has come up with. Frankly speaking, Gumo is closer to Ku than she is, and he probably knows better what’s best for her. All Naru is certain of is that confronting the owlet head-on regarding her behaviour will only make things worse. Not many are willing to be directly scrutinized for their conduct, even if it takes place in a home. What would make Ku any different?

"What are you doing?" then chirps an innocent-sounding voice.

Speak of the Will.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


_They turn their gazes to Ku_ , who has finished her meal. Shumi also finishes eating just as they do that. The spirit then sets her empty bowl down and quietly watches them, her ever-burning flame flickering soundlessly. 

Shumi further brings her glowing, ferret-like tail to her front so she could hug it. Naru notices this in the corner of her eye and turns to look at her. Naru smiles. It is quite endearing to look at.

Ku looks as if she is growing excited; eyes wide open, feathers puffing up lightly, which then makes Naru look back at her. This sight is also endearing to look at.

 _Yet another lie,_ Gumo tells himself, however. Ku does look happy, though. Shame it isn't real. He’s convinced himself as such.

Ku asks more questions. "Are you playing a game? Can I join? What’re the rules?”

Gumo and Naru look back at each other. A diverging point from which they could not return.

Gumo raises an eyebrow again. _Now?_

Naru sagely looks down and closes her eyes. _You first._

They thus end their secret conversation with a collective sigh. _Here goes,_ they both think.

Then, answering truthfully, Gumo turns to Ku and says, "No, Ku. We aren't playing a game. It’s actually a bit serious.”

"Oh. What’s up?”

Gumo and Naru set their near-finished bowls of stew to the side. They inch closer to the owlet, shrinking the circle. Even Shumi stands and walks behind her new parental figures, her hooves clopping on the dustless floorboards before silently observing from in between them. All attention was now on Ku. The owlet is unbothered by this. It also shows.

The Gumon continues, softly but firmly saying, "Ku, we need to talk about something very important. Please, come closer?"

Naru smiles warmly as she then extends an arm towards the owlet. She uses her other hand to pat her lap. Having her feel at ease would most likely make her more receptive and responsive, as dictates Naru’s experience in child-rearing.

But Ku shakes her head. She looks down at the floor, pauses, then takes a step back. 

The fire continues to burn, though beginning to die down, still faintly emitting its fragrant smoke and kindly warming the guests. Stray dust motes drift in from outside, revealed by the rays that shine in through the open windows. A butterfly flutters past the porthole.

Gumo tilts his head at Ku's response. His brow furrows slightly as his expression begins to tighten once more. Naru's extended arm falters before she retracts it.

"Ku? Is something the matter?" Naru worriedly inquires. She also tilts her head, though in a different direction than Gumo. But like earlier, once again, they surreptitiously share the same ideas.

Did what happen finally get to her? Is she now willing to talk about it?

"Are … are you mad at me?" Ku then asks, still averting her eyes.

It was like running into a wall that wasn’t supposed to be there; a rather disorienting feeling.

The owlet’s reply came slow. Regulated. _An attempt to appear hesitant, perhaps?_ Gumo wonders.

A talon taps on a floorboard, though Ku is careful not to leave a mark. She knows who built this house, and she wouldn't dare destroy it when one of its builders sat in front of her.

Gumo's face tightens even further. He uncrosses his legs. He’s getting serious. 

Naru then carefully asks, "Mad at you? What for?"

Ku’s answer suddenly comes like the waters of an opened, though well-used dam. It just slightly whelms.

"I embarrassed you. All of you. Earlier. I didn’t do what Seir told me to do, a-and I shouted … and I cried … and … stuff … " Ku trails off. "And I cut you yesterday, Mama. You sounded pretty angry, too. I'm sorry. Really.”

Naru’s eyes frown as a curve-upwards crescent appears on her lips. But Gumo remains stoic-faced. He's busy dissecting her words like a coroner given a knife and a cadaver; seeking the means of the offence like a judge presented with a testimony.

Her conscious disregard towards what happened to her is suspicious to him. And why were _they_ suddenly victims of embarrassment when she was the one who got several feathers burned off? Why is she taking blame upon herself? Does she truly think she is at fault for what happened?

For Gumo, there is no need for answers. He already knows the truth -- or the lack of it.

He doesn’t look away from Ku. Ku doesn’t know this. Her talon keeps tapping the floor whilst Gumo’s ivory eyes faintly shift in their sockets, scrutinizing the owlet. He discerns, _knows_ , that this is another lie. 

The temptation to confront her about it despite Naru’s misgivings of doing so was beginning to grow in his heart. His style was to directly address the issue with logic and reasoning like any other engineering problem.

But Ku was no contraption. There are no such things as spare parts and immediate repairs when something in a person goes wrong, and forcing things to work could be disastrous for everyone involved. Gumo is aware of this, and he was further restrained with Naru’s advice to which he defers to. She has more experience in the parenting department than he does, and Ku was still her child.

This was out of Gumo’s depth, though his heart ached to help Ku, who needed it. He just doesn't know what the underlying problem is. 

What is she trying to hide? Why is she lying? 

Does she not trust them to help her? 

At least he had a partner who could offer a quick fix solution for it and save them from his indecisiveness. 

For now.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


_Naru sees Gumo look at her._ Ku doesn't see this.

The mother nods acceptingly; resignedly. Seems it didn’t happen the way she wanted it to. Gumo didn't even start his … whatever it would have been.

So, she looks back at Ku and speaks once again.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


_Mama's voice is soothing_ , as it has always been. It is the voice Ori gave her through years of being together with him. She loves that voice.

"Ku? Darling?" she hears Naru call.

The owlet doesn't look up, though she ceases her tapping. The mother persists, taking it as a sign.

"Did I really sound angry to you?"

They can hear the sounds of pot-clatter in the distance as the canteen reaches peak hour. They also hear the warm wind as it lightly brushes the flowering trees. Someone scampers past their house, crunching grass underfoot. The fire has reduced into flaming cinders, but the stew's aroma still lingers.

Quietly, Ku nods. She sniffs, too.

"Oh, Ku. Please. Please come here," Naru pleads.

Ku hears her stand. Her footsteps pad against the floorboards. 

She inwardly smiles, for Mama is coming to her.

For her.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


_Gumo watches as the mother steps closer to Ku._ Naru then scoops the owlet up and properly cradles her, raising her retracted talons so they don't touch her legs or belly.

"See? Just like that. You won't scratch me. And to be honest, I'd already forgotten about it."

"Really?" Ku asks hopefully, burrowing her face into Naru's chest. Naru raises a hand and gently strokes the back of the owlet's head, swaying her back and forth. 

Gumo looks away from this. 

"But … but I -- " whimpers Ku. 

"Shh, shh. No buts, dear. I'd already forgotten. That means I'd already forgiven you. And I'm not mad at you, Ku. _We're_ not mad at you. You couldn't have known. Right, Gumo?"

Gumo says nothing. He simply reaches out and pats Ku on the feathered back. 

His face is still tight, to Naru's concern. Something still stumps him.

Then, Gumo sighs. Audibly.

There would be time to talk about this in future. Besides, they needed to address something else. This is also what Gumo had realized and meant to do earlier, though he had been sidetracked with this … this display. 

This day was becoming quite perplexing for everyone, some more so than others. There was no clear direction if they were heading anywhere.

"That aside … we still need to talk, Ku," Gumo says, retreating to the original plan he and Naru developed on the way back. "I'll get to the point. We need to explain why your feathers burned. Can you please face me?"

In Naru's embrace, Ku squirms as she turns. Eventually, she does look at Gumo. Her fire-tinted eyes are relaxed now; reassured. 

And so he begins to explain. Gumo is careful to hide his reluctance.

The owlet takes it all in without much reaction. Aside from a question here and there, the passing of information was a smooth one. Before Gumo knew it, he was done. He also avoided mentioning Seir's ulterior motive, as was also agreed upon before.

"So Shumi doesn't hate me. She just doesn't know me … because she has no memories … from Ori … about me. And her reaction is to burn things she finds scary or doesn't know," Ku says.

"Sums it up," Gumo replies, his tone neutral. "There's also the chance she might have memories about your first mother and Shriek, and … not many memories of either of them are good."

They fall silent at that. Ku especially. She seems to contemplate that statement.

Ku knows of her biological mother. She also knows of what Kuro had wrought upon Nibel. They didn't hide it from her, though they hadn't been blunt. 

And it was true. Most of Ori's experiences regarding owls had been bad ones. And for Shumi, his descendant, to automatically defend herself against an owl seemed to at least confirm this as a possibility. It is highly likely to misread a situation without a full picture. This seems to be Shumi's inherent case, for this could be all she knows about owls.

At least she wasn't attacking Ku.

"So I just … get her to know me?" Ku eventually asks. "How can I do that without getting burned?"

"Well, it goes without saying that you shouldn't try to touch her fire. So far, it is confirmed that only I and Naru can touch it without getting burned. And two, you'll be living together now. She will have plenty of time to learn about you, and you of her. We _all_ will learn more about her and what she may need."

"Mhm. And speaking of," Naru then asks, looking around. "Where is she? Did she go out?"

Gumo looks to the spot where Shumi stood behind them. She isn't there anymore. The door isn't open, either. There's just their bowls, the white fire in the fireplace and themselves.

… hm.

"Would you look at that … !" exclaims Naru, who then places Ku down. 

Ku is made silent again and has a particular expression as Naru leaves her. Gumo notices this but says nothing as they approach the fireplace. _Not now_ , he thinks to himself.

Gumo is still unconvinced of the genuineness of Ku's behaviour from earlier. He also isn't assured that the problem, this weed-like growth in Ku's heart, has properly been uprooted. At best, it's only been trimmed down a notch or two.

The Gumon would need time. He would need to wait and observe. He doesn't know the problem's source, nor its full extent. He also doesn't have all the facts; the knowledge; the tools that could help him narrow down the problem, either. 

There are many pieces to gather and understand. How long would he have to do this for?

Curled up in rekindled embers, hugging her tail and surrounded by milky-white flames, Shumi is sound asleep as she fits in the burning space beneath the cauldron. She is keeping herself warm with her own fire. She also inhales through her nose and breathes out little puffs from her mouth. She seems unaffected by the smoke, too.

"Looks like she likes your cooking, Ku," chuckles a thoroughly smitten Naru, not taking her glimmering eyes off of Shumi. "And as Gumo said, we'll have plenty of time to learn about your new sister, and her of you, Ku. And we'll be here to help with that. So don't worry too much, alright?"

Ku looks at her new sister from behind Naru. The owlet, again, is silent as she looks towards the source of the burning flame, her eyes glinting with white light.

But Gumo looks only at Ku. He watches her; over her. He then echoes Naru's sentiment. "Yep."

"Plenty of time to learn about her."

Gumo makes a promise to himself. He swears to learn the truth, to find and rescue the real owlet from the fogged forest of mirrors she has built around her, no matter the cost, no matter how long.

For Ku's happiness -- _true_ happiness -- was far more precious than any amount of time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ending Song: "South" by Sleeping At Last
> 
> Link: https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=9OsB3YIwTdo 
> 
> The song is Gumo's promise. The last line also nails the final part in this chapter quite well. 
> 
> Also, you may notice that the imagery mentions stuff that may make you recall the Misty Woods in Blind Forest. And to that, I say that this was intentional. No shame in taking inspiration with your own interpretation, after all. 
> 
> The Wood did trick those who wandered into it, preventing them from leaving. But Ku intentionally constructed a figurative version of it with lies, and this also ties in with the first song as its the owl's forest, as hinted by the lyrics. But as to the 'guest' also mentioned in the lyrics ... I'll leave you to interpret that.
> 
> And with that, the story continues from where the first chapter began! 
> 
> What is Ku hiding? Does she not trust them? 
> 
> And will Gumo, the lantern in the midst of deceptive fogs, find the answers he seeks? 
> 
> FIND OUT, IN THE NEXT EPISODE OF DESPERATE HOUSEW- just kidding.
> 
> But on a more serious note, comparing the first chapter to this chapter, have there been improvements in your reading experiences?


	9. Phantasmagoria Pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phantasmagoria: a confused group of real or imagined images that change quickly, one following the other as in a dream. 
> 
> \-- Cambridge Dictionary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theme Song: "Dance of the Spirit" by KOKIA
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g8RE3oKFS1g
> 
> Because the energy of the song starts slow, then quickly builds up, which matches the feel of the progression of events.

_It's been two weeks and three days since Shumi was born;_ since Ori embraced the light.

It was also on the third day of the third week (that is, today) that things began to pick up like a fleeting sequence of vivid dreams -- a seamless tapestry of peculiar occurrences happening in passing in perfect harmony.

The crux behind this increase in unusual events was but a search for knowledge. Gumo and Naru had to learn more about Shumi and what she could and could not do, and as quickly as possible. This was for the safety of the Glades and its inhabitants, since Shumi was possibly the living example of a toddler who had been given an infinite supply of matches.

That image speaks for itself.

But potential disaster can be avoided through proper education, which, however, raises yet another issue: Gumo and Naru had little idea on what to teach her. Three days is very little time to know and understand something that can affect lives now and in the future.

There also is no guarantee as to Shumi developing qualities of restraint and understanding as she grows up, despite constant, wholehearted efforts in parenting and teaching. She may be a Light Guardian/Grand Firstborn/what have you and have several of Ori's memories, but having a title and simply knowing what others know doesn't necessarily affect one's personality. And Shumi most definitely is not Ori, not even in the memories she received from him.

Furthermore, Shumi was born with great power in her fingertips and she already knew this. She didn't have the best start to the learning of it, either; from surviving a Snapper attack (not even taking into account the potential number of fights in the two weeks before that) to the burning of her sister's feathers -- all within fifteen days.

A lot can happen in a second. How much more so in fifteen days? A year? Or a Light Guardian's/Grand Firstborn's/what have you's lifespan?

And in that same lifespan, would there be a repeat of what happened between the two sisters? And if so, to what degree? And to whom, if not only Ku? 

With all that being said, Shumi needed to learn how to use her powers correctly. Not just as a future hero, but also as a common folk who would recognize the damaging consequences her powers might bring upon others, should she be reckless and inexperienced as she is now.

And as fortune would have it, the Glades offers several places for her to safely explore her capabilities and limitations.

Safe for most others, that is. 

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


_"Sorry, what?"_ Grom asks incredulously. 

The builder cannot believe what he just heard. His two remaining eyes are wide with surprise, bright with wonder like spotlights. “She can sleep in _what_?” he asks again.

"Fire, Grom. Shumi can sleep in fire," Gumo reiterates, patiently repeating his earlier statement. "Oh, and the flames turn white when she does. It’s quite pretty."

"Does it, now? What shade of white?"

" … eggshell white?" Gumo offers, raising an eyebrow.

"Eggshell white," Grom whispers to himself, closing his eyes. "A colour of innocence. The colour of Baby's-breath. How fitting for a young'un."

They currently stand in the centre of the Glade’s smithy, Gumo and Grom’s shared workspace since sixteen days ago. A few other Gorlek have also come since then, seeking refuge as Niwen begins its slow road to recovery and life. These new ones now work at their respective stations, with one striking a red-hot piece of metal with a hammer on an anvil, one throwing shovelfuls of coal into the sweltering forge and one manning the bellows, feeding the burning flames with hearty bursts of hot air.

Ku, Naru and Shumi are also here this morning. They stand at the entrance and take in what they can see going on inside this dome-shaped, cobblestone building. Thank the stars that there are enough open windows. Standing at the doorway is already hot enough as it is.

Shumi is most naturally drawn to the forge’s intense flames. Her dark eyes are mesmerized as they stare directly at the pyre of swirling orange tongues. Ku is curious about the work going on at the anvil, wondering as to what the Gorlek there is making. Lastly, Naru is taken by one of the workers. The mother giggles when he winks at her. Gumo notices this but ignores it. He would deal with him later.

“Anyway, and … sure," Grom eventually says, opening his eyes and returning from the reverie his mind's eye conjured. "Shumi can stay, but what can she _do_ here? Would you like us to teach her how to smith?”

“That’s honestly a start?” Gumo admits. “Seir didn’t give us much. All we know is what they told us … _showed_ us … and what we discovered yesterday, the Shumi-being-able-to-sleep-in-fire thing. But we need to know more, quickly, and -- ”

“The smithy, a place of flames, might be the best place to start,” Grom finishes, crossing two of his four, thick arms with a faint, grim yet playful smile of realization. “But best for whom? Her? Or that outside, lest we burn?"

Gumo chuckles, nods and shrugs. There’s a reason why he and the old Gorlek are good friends. Brothers from another mother, one might say. _Very_ different mothers, though having the same dry wits and constructive interests.

“Besides, I’ll be here, too,” Gumo adds, encouragingly patting Grom on the shoulder. “So you can just do your normal work and I'll just … observe, I guess. Whilst working.”

Grom gives a prudent nod to that. Then he leans in and says, “And uh … will the lady be alright without her?” 

The old Gorlek's caramel-dulcet voice is revealed only to Gumo; hidden to others by the roar of the flames and the ringing of the anvil behind them.

“Lady? What lady?” Gumo asks.

“Naru, Mister Genius. Talking about Naru. Look at her."

They both look at Naru. 

Still holding Shumi with one arm, the mother now uses her free hand to touch the muscular bicep of the Gorlek who winked at her. Gumo and Grom look back at each other as Ku makes mock gagging sounds. 

“I think she’ll be fine,” Gumo grumbles as the old Gorlek chuckles to himself. Grom's Gumon friend is an open book at times.

It was time for them to go, though Shumi would stay behind as reluctantly agreed. Naru seemed reluctant as well, but she nonetheless let Shumi stand.

“We’ll be with Tuley in his new orchard. He needs help supplanting twigs on taller branches,” Naru smiles, also nodding towards the Gorlek who spoke with her just then, who returns to work. “Anyway. Say goodbye, Ku. Your sister will be staying here for … the whole day?” 

Naru looks at Gumo.

“Half of the day,” Gumo replies, keeping the as-perceived flirty Gorlek in his periphery. “She'll go back to you for lunch in the canteen. But yeah, say goodbye to Grom and Shumi, Ku.”

“Bye Grom,” pipes the owlet, who receives a hearty rub on the feathered head. Then her fire-coloured eyes fall on Shumi, who tilts her horned head at her.

Ku says nothing. 

She wordlessly turns and begins walking away, not even waiting for Naru. Her talons click on the ground, leaving little marks on the dirt.

The rest, of course, notice. Most are surprised, too. It is Shumi who is unaffected. She doesn't know what just happened.

But Grom can discern, based on Gumo and Naru's stunned expressions, that the owlet has never acted like this before. 

They are silent for a while. But eventually, the builder speaks. He couldn't just stand by. These were his granddaughters!

... sentimentally. But even so.

“With what happened yesterday, I wouldn’t blame her,” Grom begins in his honey-smooth voice. “Though I would, indeed, advise separating them for a while.”

Gumo sighs like a bellows' exhale of injected air. He shakes his head in worry as the black spot that is Ku grows smaller in their visions. “What can we do, brother? This is new to us."

“As I said, separate them for a bit," Grom sagely reiterates. "But at the same time, let them regularly see each other. From a distance. Trust must be built eventually, and seeing is often believing in most cases, especially for children.

“As is the form of a brick wall; held together by reliable mortar, trust in someone is held fast with a firm, steadfast faith. And the mortar -- the faith -- must be applied in the right places and given enough time to solidify in harmony with the bricks -- the things seen; the foundation for one’s beliefs. And it is then, and only then, can trust be truly built.

"What do you two think of that?" Grom then finishes. He wipes his sweat-sheened brow with a handkerchief and neatly folds it before re-pocketing it.

The parents consider his words for a bit, absorbing what the old Gorlek said. They then nod in agreement, because quite frankly, this is the only effective-sounding plan they’ve come across as of late and Grom had seen plenty in his long lifetime. Surely, he at least meant well. Why would he mean otherwise?

“Thank you, Grom. We will at least try what you said,” Naru says, respectfully nodding towards him. Gumo does the same.

“Anything for my granddaughters; my … _alushfanus_ and my … _sabijabon,_ " Grom then says, musingly.

Gumo and Naru exchange wary looks at that. They then direct the same looks towards the Gorlek. Is he alright? Is the forge's heat suddenly getting to him?

The builder first responds with a wistful chuckle, followed by a sigh and the shake of his head. He then says, "It is the language of my fallen land. But what you just heard is the old, old, poetic version of it; fittingly called Poetic Geroran. Us Gorlek may not seem like it, but we do love poetry alongside our engineering which, sad to say, shadows that artful part of us.”

Naru and Gumo are interested. It shows on their faces.

“It sounds beautiful, Grom," Naru softly gushes, clasping her hands to her heart. "Especially when _you_ say it with that smooth voice of yours."

"Thank you, Lady Naru. You're much too kind," Grom smiles, giving Naru a bow which moves her to curtsy with a lighthearted laugh. Gumo doesn't mind this. He trusts Grom wholeheartedly.

"What was that last one?” Naru then asks. “Sabij-bon?”

“Very close. _Sabijabon_. It means ‘obsidian falling star'."

“Sa-bi-ja-bon. _Sabijabon,_ ” repeats Naru, to which Grom gives a proud thumbs up. Cultural exchanges are always good.

“And the first one?” Gumo asks, not even attempting to pronounce it.

“ _Alushfanus_. ‘Sugar lantern’,” grins Grom as more coal is tossed into the burning forge. “Because Shumi, to me, looks like someone with a lantern on their head. And they are white like sugar, and she’s a creature of light, is she not?”

They all turn to Shumi, who’s quietly been standing beside them this whole time. They look at the flame that hovers in between her uneven horns, and … hm. It does look akin to a lantern, at least when looking at her from the front. 

“Thank you for the language lesson, Grom,” Naru then says, rushedly, taking a step back towards the outside. “It was beautiful, and I’d love to hear more, but I’d better go and make sure Ku is with Tuley. See you later, Gumo! Bye, Shumi!"

“Catch you later,” Gumo smiles, reaching out and squeezing her hand, to which she happily squeezes back. With that, she starts a brisk jog. The remaining three give little waves as she leaves.

And when he is sure Naru can’t hear them, Gumo then says: “Grom?”

“Yes, brother?”

“Thank you for that,” Gumo sighs again. “It’s not easy, because it’s different from what we had before. The minute Ku was born, she instantly got along with Ori. And now that Shumi is here -- ”

But he is gently stopped before he goes further. The builder reaches out and takes him by the shoulder, giving him a firm shake.

“All I can say is that it’s no-one’s fault, Gumo. Not Shumi’s, not Ku’s, not Naru’s and most certainly not yours. There is no point in stressing over what we cannot control. Just do the best you can in any circumstance, brother. It’s all we can do.”

Like earlier, Gumo takes a minute to let the words settle in his heart. Then, he nods. He smiles, too.

“Thanks, Grom. Again. I think … I think I needed to hear that.”

“Anytime, brother,” Grom smiles, clapping him on the shoulder. “I should also teach you some Poetic Geroran. For the lady. So you can swoon her back at home. And also so that my culture won't die off.”

“Quite the romantic, aren’t you?” Gumo smirks. “But sure, I’d love to learn some.”

The Gorlek nods, smiles, says nothing. The Gumon also nods, also smiles, also says nothing. Silence ensues between them. Why does this happen? It just comes from nowhere, too.

Then Gumo isn’t sure where it comes from, but a thought suddenly sparks inside his head. He quickly seizes it. Anything to continue the conversation.

“Grom?”

“Yes, Gumo?”

“You said something about lanterns, right?”

“ … yes?”

The Gumon smiles carefully. 

“Would you like to see if Shumi has memories of you?”

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


“ _Alushfanus_!” Grom cries, tossing the leafy twig aside and scooping the spirit up with two of his arms. “You recognize me, my _alushfanus_? You remember when Ori and I rebuilt the Glades together?”

Shumi laughs as she is tossed into the air several times. Her ears flutter and her tail swipes playfully whenever she goes airborne. She also cries out his name with a sweet, bright voice.

“Grom! Grom!”

“Yes, my _alushfanus_ , yes! That’s me, your _jadah_!" Grom laughs, spinning them around. "Your _jadah_! Your grandpa! Grandpa Grom!"

Even the other Gorlek workers have paused to see this moment between them. The smithy quiets a bit as they, along with Gumo, smile with Grom as he then pulls Shumi into a gentle, warm hug with his four, strong arms. It's amazing how one can show tenderness with calloused hands built for hard, gruelling work.

“Oh, this is a gift. A gift! A part of Ori that remembers me lives within you, and that is a wonderful gift," Grom declares, letting loose the last jets of exhilaration whilst holding a giggling Shumi at arm's length.

And soon, the excitement dies down. Steady breaths are redrawn. The world reassumes its less-than-vivid colours. 

Then Grom turns around and sees everyone in the smithy looking at them. He releases Shumi, allowing her to go back to Gumo whilst the older Gorlek coughs and crosses his arms in an attempt to reclaim his formidable composure. As if he had one to begin with.

He is cuter than he thinks he is.

"Well? Don't just stand there, get back to work!" Grom asserts. "We must unravel the mystery that is our _alushfanus_! Rekindle the flames! Strike your metals! Go! Go!”

The workers hustle back to work, smiling and chuckling to themselves as they do. The flames resume their earlier intensity and the strikes of hammers ring true throughout the smithy once more. Grom then looks at Gumo, who has picked up the she-spirit. They look back the builder with bright faces.

"Well, brother?" Grom then says, uncrossing his arms. "What shall we do first?"

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


_Gumo's handwriting is sleek_ , left-handed, with his letters often fluctuating slightly in their sizes and slants. This gives his cursive a slightly comical, narrowly off-kilter appearance which, somehow, is the reason why it’s readable. It is quirky enough to demand one's attention, yet it is also flowy enough to maintain one's concentration -- a delicate balance; a poem embodied. Grom loved his handwriting.

He also has a desk to himself at a side of the smithy, covered with spare parts, gears, ink bottles, papers, schematics. It is located opposite from the flaming forge, beneath a window for air and natural light. It also gives a convenient view of the whole interior with slight turns of the head. Not a bad office space.

But Gumo would be focusing on something off his desk today. His inventions could always wait.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


_Entry Number 1_

_They bonded nicely, right after Grom realized she recognized him. This will no doubt ensure smooth cooperation in the future and bring about more observations in natural ways. Great start in smithy_

_Tested Shumi's tolerance to fire, if she has any limits_

_Result: entirely immune to burning_

_Flames did not turn white **→** not automatic. Flames too big?* By choice? Only through sleeping? More testing needed_

_Further appears immune to symptoms gained from smoke inhalation, but not immune to getting dirty. She painted Grom's cheek with ash_

_Grom said she is like "a fuzzy, warm towel taken out from the dryer" when taking her out of the forge. Must try for self, regardless of ash_

_Rest of the morning, Shumi helped around. Carried things. Tried bellows. Nothing else noteworthy_

_*approx. 3000_ ** _°_ ** _fahrencius / ~1650_ ** _°_ ** _cellenheit, forge's highest temperature, according to my temperature checker_

_Reminder: fine-tune temperature checker prototype_

_Reminder reminder:_ ~~_find better name for temperature checker_ ~~ _thermometer_

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


_It is now afternoon._ How did the morning go by so fast? He usually enjoys his work, but he's never had fun with it before.

Then again, Grom already knows the answer to that question. They now stand at the entrance as the sun blazes from its afternoon peak.

"Not bad for a first day, Grom?"

"Agreed, brother. Agreed! Especially when I got to connect with my _alushfanus_. Will she come tomorrow?"

"In the foreseeable future, yes. Every morning, in fact.”

"Did you hear that, my _alushfanus_? You get to see your old Grom every morning!"

A bright giggle comes as a cheer. Grom can only chuckle, too. Such a precious thing.

"Well, gotta bring Shumi to Naru, like I promised." Then a pause. "Wait, are you staying behind, Grom?"

"Ah, yes. Veral made a new arrangement yesterday. He's going to have Moki deliver our lunch to us every day. Veral is so kind, is he not?"

"Yeah, he is. Cooks for everyone, makes sure the Glades has enough food with Tuley. Such hard, honest workers."

“Agreed, brother.”

Another pause. Eight strikes ring out behind them, followed by an airy hiss as something hot is submerged into water. When it is taken out, it is revealed to be a garden shovel.

"Well. Gotta go. See ya later, Grom. Say bye to your Grandpa, Shumi."

" _Jadah_!" Accompanied by a wave.

A syrup-smooth chuckle follows, accompanied by a doting bow as he watches them leave.

Much to learn, much to see. It is then that Grom realizes that Shumi has no doll, like the one he gave Ku before.

He should fix that. Yes, he must. Even if he pricks his fingers for a thousand more times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, Grandpa Grom gets his chapter! I loved him in WotW, such a kind and generous soul. I also refuse to believe that his kind, who combined artistry with their feats of engineering, did not expand into other artforms.
> 
> okay yes I love the gentle, hearty giant archetype and it BETTER SHOW.
> 
> Also, I shall attempt to reveal Shumi's powers whilst also maintaining the element of storytelling, although it won't be the most important aspect of the story as a whole.


	10. Phantasmagoria Pt. 1.5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cracks exist between the seams of dreams.
> 
> They often reveal the real work going on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyyyy
> 
> i hated writing this chapter
> 
> but it was necessary so -- 
> 
> here it is

_Naru’s handwriting is thick_ , right-handed and like that of smooth, carved ivory. 

She has a method of making traditionally "pointy" letters (ones that produce sharp sounds like "kuh" [ꟿ], "akh" [ೱ] and "ekk" [႑] in the Ni dialect) rounder in appearance by having their sharp angles curved into graceful bows like that of elephants tusks. 

This makes her handwriting harmonious, graceful and easy to read, touched with a sense of flow that glides from word to word, whilst soothing the reader, captivating attention and highlighting the information presented in refined strokes of graphite and ink.

In essence, her style of script is beautifully emphasized by how it draws attention to itself without pomp and flair. For beautiful things -- truly beautiful things -- needn't ask for attention that is well-deserved. 

And when they are noticed and found by those who least expect it, how much more profound is one's appreciation of them.

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


_Entry Number 1_

_They bonded nicely, right after Grom realized she recognized him. This will no doubt ensure smooth cooperation in the future and bring about more observations in natural ways. Great start in smithy._

_…_

_Reminder: fine-tune temperature checker prototype_

_Reminder reminder:_ _f ~~ind better name for temperature checker~~_ ~~_therm_ _ometer_~~ __**temprameter**

**No one got hurt, but not a great start. She doesn’t recognize Veral.**

**Veral understands. He's willing to forgive. Will allow us to explore her powers in the kitchen if she can "somehow help w/o burning it down". Always opportunistic; not really optimistic.**

**Shumi touched the cauldron (still hot from lunch period). She did not get hurt.**

**She made the cauldron hotter. It glowed red. The water inside quickly started steaming. Light travelled from her flame, thru horns, thru hands, into metal.**

**Can she melt metal when she grows strong enough?**

**Shumi touched the hot water. Did not hurt her. Can she sense heat? Are hot things ‘neutral’ to her? Hot water = normal water? Can she touch magma?**

**Veral wants to become her friend to get her help during lunch. Probably already thought of a thousand things for her to do.**

**Ku asked Veral to let her join the Moki that delivers lunch thru-out the Glades. Veral said yes. Starts tomorrow.**

**Ku was very happy. She’s always happy to help.**

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


_"You know,_ _that does make much more sense,"_ Naru relents, pursing her lips. "I thought her reaction _was_ a little strange. I just couldn't put a finger on why."

A scattering of lanterns are lit across the Glades as another day in Niwen draws to its close. Hung from branch-strung networks of rope, it's akin to a spiderweb that sees the rising dawn -- except the glittering dew is replaced with vessels of flickering flame and Mora, fearful Mother of Spiders, would have fainted-onto-a-loveseat fainted after seeing its haphazard, flammable arrangement.

It is also on this cool spring dusk that after Naru and Gumo had ushered the kids through the door, and after Gumo had revealed something strange with her accounts, that Naru realized she had gotten something wrong. Unintentionally, of course.

Only Gumo would have sensed it, being closer to Ku and whatnot. He simply knew she wouldn’t have acted in the ways Naru described it, both in the page (that the notebook is currently open to) and with the mother's retelling of it just prior to Gumo’s observations.

"I just thought that she was happy to get a job," Naru admits, shrugging. “She said that she’d feel more useful, much happier by using her flight, which is 'her thing as an owl', to help others."

"But happiness to _that_ degree?" Gumo crosses his lanky arms. "I don't think so, based on how you said it. Such joy is rarely found in being generous. It usually comes when someone gets something they really want when there’s a good chance of it not happening. Ku wasn't just happy, Naru. She was relieved."

Relieved because of what, though? What was it that Ku acquired that granted her this supposed relief?

The paperback notebook (courtesy of Lupo for lending it to Gumo) is consulted once again. Gumo stares at his and Naru's different handwritings for a while, the graphite lit by lantern light. His eyes flick back and forth, analyzing every line, absorbing every stroke.

Gumo pinches his chin, his face a tight grimace. “When did Ku ask for this job, Naru? Particularly, what had happened when she asked for it, especially in relation to Shumi?”

Naru looks to the darkening sky. Oddly specific, but sure. Her fingers begin moving in gestures only she understands; summoning invisible strands of memory. Coalescing, weaving, fastening, confirming. Her lips move without making a sound.

She nods with every pause as she recounts. “It was in … a bit of time … right after Shumi … touched the hot water. And I … was still writing when Ku asked.”

“And was everyone in the kitchen watching her? Shumi, I mean.”

Naru nods again. “Most of the Moki were. And there was me, Veral and Ku.”

“And Ku asks for the job after Shumi does all those experiments?”

Naru directs a non-existent eyebrow towards Gumo. _What is the point to all this?_

A plain buq swallow flutters from above and settles on an overhead rope. It tilts its small, horned head at the pair below, perhaps in curiosity, in amusement, or both. The notebook is shut with a light slap of paper. Gumo meets Naru’s gaze. _The point is..._

“Think about it, Naru. Everyone, including Ku, is watching Shumi perform these miraculous things. Everyone is astounded and amazed. And Veral, perfectionist that he is, expresses a desire for her potential skills in the kitchen.

"Then Ku reaches out. She asks Veral to let her help the Glades by using her own skillset. Veral says yes, and she gets what she wanted."

“But what does Ku want, exactly?” Naru points out. "You still haven't answered that."

Gumo shrugs at this, for it was the only thing he could do. He stares at the notebook in his hand. His expression is searching, yet knowing that something is just not there. There is a whimsical yet earnest longing that could not be fulfilled.

“Had we been able to read minds like Seir, this whole situation would have ended by now,” Gumo says. “And I know that such things take time. But with how the situation has changed, we need to do _something_ other than to stand by and watch how things play out. Even baby steps are worth something.”

“But why? Why is it that serious?”

“I have a feeling that that will answered as we continue talking,” Gumo answers. “So for now, I have three possibilities that we can keep in mind as we keep working on it.”

Gumo looks at Naru. Naru steels herself. “Go on, then,” she says. And so he does.

"The first is that Ku is jealous.”

Naru tilts her head at this. Her eyebrow (still non-existent) arches further. Gumo continues.

"Perhaps she wants the eye of favour from the Glades; from everyone around her. To impress everyone despite Shumi's impressive abilities -- abilities Ku doesn’t possess, but may not necessarily want to possess.”

Gumo then pauses, as if having lost his train of thought. His eyes take on a different depth, however, which suggests otherwise. 

He then says, "Or maybe … it’s closer than we think it is.”

He oddly falls silent. He says nothing further, doesn't explain anything. He looks at Naru. She somehow gives Gumo an expression more quizzical than the previous one. Gumo doesn’t change his look. He continues to stare at her.

The realization then dawns on Naru as the sun vanishes behind Baur’s Peak. The lanterns overhead grow brighter in slow tandem. 

“ … me,” Naru states in a deadpan tone.

Gumo nods once.

"Ku wants my favour."

He nods twice.

“But I don’t favour any child over the other,” Naru protests. “I love them both. They both have my favour! Equally!"

Gumo softens his voice. “And I don't doubt that. Never have, never will. But that doesn’t mean that Ku feels the same. You don't share the same heart."

Naru opens her mouth again, but no sound comes out this time. Gumo watches the emotions settle on her plain face that betrays so much like rising pie crust in a baking oven. What could she say to that? 

"Have … have I not been giving her enough attention?" Naru asks, her voice barely above a whisper. "Have _we_ not been giving her enough attention?"

Gumo looks to the ground. But Naru understands. Some questions cannot be answered by others; rhetorical responsibilities.

Further, the learning never stops. What matters now is what they do next.

Gumo moves on to the next possibility after a moment of silence. 

"The second possibility I'm thinking of is that Ku is avoidant of Shumi. This is based on what happened at the smithy, and that, basically, she is using every chance she gets to get away from her. And as for the third: simply both are true. They aren't mutually exclusive."

Both fall silent again. They take in the words that were just said. It’s a process, that’s for sure.

It's strange how words can work. They can be easy to understand, yet the messages within and the meaning they carry can be anything but simple. It is a deceptive side to words often overlooked.

A wind begins to pick up, gently swaying the lanterns overhead. The metal softly creaks and clatters, but the flames within burn on. The plain-looking horned swallow, on the other hand, lets out a loud, hideous squawk at them before taking flight into the growing darkness. So much for appearances.

" … so what do we do?" Naru asks after looking back, slightly perturbed by the bird. 

Her voice is toughened somewhat. She is concerned, but ready. She will do what she must.

Gumo is glad he has a steadfast partner. He steps forward and takes her hand in his. They don't look at each other. Not yet. Though, they squeeze each other's grip.

He thus presents his plan.

"For one, we need to show Ku that she isn't being compared to Shumi. At least not by us."

Gumo glances at the closed door behind them. Naru does the same. They look at the decorative circle of opaque glass set into its wooden top centre, including the flickering white light that fills it. They think of the two who lie beyond. Ku is probably upstairs; Shumi in the fireplace, obviously. 

Them having separate rooms -- if the fireplace could be called one -- is a time that has come too early for them. Such strains should never have to exist between siblings, regardless of any differences. Ori and Ku proved that.

"Second, Ku isn't the only child we have to address,” Gumo continues, his voice low. “Shumi has to do something, too."

"And that is?"

Gumo finally turns to Naru. Naru does likewise. The dusk now departs, replaced by twilight.

"She must also do the same," he says. "Shumi must show Ku that she loves her, that there is no need for competition between them."

"But she doesn't love her. She doesn't even _know_ her," Naru raises. "She doesn't even seem aware of Ku. Unless provoked."

"Which has to change," Gumo gently counters. "If neither sibling wants to connect, how can a bond ever form in the first place? 

"There is a difference between them, however. Ku has _chosen_ not to connect. She is … a slightly immovable object. She needs to be persuaded in order to move. Shumi, though? She is a floating dust particle that needs a little wind. The very movable, though volatile, object." 

It takes a little for Naru to process what Gumo is implying. Lots of symbolism here. But when she gets it, she lets go of his hand and crosses her arms.

"Are you suggesting that we bring them together? _Physically_ bringing them together?"

Gumo nods. He passes the notebook to Naru, who takes it with both hands. She stares at its blank, unassuming front cover.

"Even when Grom told us not to do that just this morning?” Naru asks. “We also promised him we'd try out his advice."

Gumo shrugs. "True. But he only advised us. That, and family comes first, Naru. I learned that from you."

A hand is then placed on Naru's shoulder. When she looks up, she sees a warm, reassuring smile. She can only smile back, though slightly lacking the level of enthusiasm Gumo has. 

He continues, "And unlike what Grom said, we need bridges, not walls. Although … the bricks and mortar part still makes sense. 

“And worst-case scenario, we just explain it to him. He's got thicker skin and is plenty calmer than Veral. And our _jadah_ loves his _hafyda en shasía,_ his granddaughters in spirit. I learned a little P.G. from him."

Naru giggles at Gumo's accent, which was not his expected reaction, but he chuckles all the same. His Poetic Geroran is a bit wonky in comparison to how Grom said it with his smooth, dulcet voice this morning. But it's quite cute if anything. It's endearing.

Naru's shoulders loosen as the laughter seems to siphon the tension through her mouth, evaporating it into nothing in the quiet twilight air around them. 

But she is still hesitant. It shows in her fading chuckles, and she has a good reason for it. She doesn't want a repeat of what happened at Ori's sapling. 

Yet the hand on her shoulder encourages her. She's certain Gumo doesn't want something like that to happen again, either. And if he's sure in suggesting this plan of action, then … 

"So how do we bring them together? We can't have them stay together all the time, though, right?"

"You're right. Just baby steps, like I said," Gumo answers, smiling a little wider. "And fortunately for them, I already have an idea."

Naru raises an eyebrow as the first few stars begin to shine; the gradual appearance of the countless cosmic lanterns. "Go on?"

Gumo then says: "It's not what you'd expect, though. And we’re gonna have to ask a friend for some help. Though, I think he’d be very happy to teach them a thing or two.”

A bit of silence ensues, though it feels different this time. Gumo waits for Naru to say something. Specifically, to ask a question. A very important question about this particular friend.

And she does.

“Why do I feel like this isn’t a baby step?”

Gumo knows her too well by now. He simply smiles, glad in his heart. Naru's shoulder is lightly shaken. For good measure.

“Good. Your instincts are up, as are mine. Let’s use that in our parenting, shall we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ending Song: Compared Child (TUYU Remix) by TUYU --- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4TmzJzGXbB4
> 
> The energy of the song does not match that of this chapter, but it's the lyrics that matter most (which also relates to the theme of words), especially the last verse where it changes the perspective between the characters. The last image of the video is also important, as Ku will always have her back by others who work behind the scenes. It is also the goal that Gumo and Naru want to achieve between the two siblings in solving the problem they prescribe to Ku.
> 
> Also phew. Recurring imagery and themes going on. Did you catch them? And fun fact, Gumo's name means 'spider' in Japanese. Do whatever with that information as you please. 
> 
> And how did you pronounce 'buq' in your head? Like 'buck'? Or 'book'? Language is interesting, and so is symbolism.
> 
> finally, I hated writing this chapter because it's shorter and it was needed yet it took me a WEEK to write it and to get it right. I was done. 
> 
> doNE


	11. Diverge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look into Ku's current mental state.
> 
> Also explores an idea of lies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first time writing angst pls have mercy
> 
> i'll also let everything speak for themselves unless otherwise needed

_The sky that once called to her is less welcoming now._ Why is this so?

The winds beneath her wings have become raucous, mocking laughter. The act of flying no longer provides liberation to her worried soul. And despite being airborne in the boundless firmament, her heart feels as if it's been bound in thorns and weighed down with lead. How she even flies is unknown to her.

Ku doesn't know its true name. Much of the Feeling's nature eludes her. All she knows for certain is of its presence within, her dislike towards it, and that she wants to take care of it herself. 

No-one needs to know. It feels unnecessary to involve others. It was within her, so it was her problem. End of story. 

Ku sees Naru waving up from below. As she then descends and falls gently into Mama’s waiting arms, the seed of self-determination sets within her heart and mind. 

_Give of yourself to the happiness of others, regardless of the cost._

_Even if the cost is your spirit._

A good tool never breaks easily. If it finds a balance between regular usage and good maintenance, a tool could last for a lifetime, or more, if one was particularly careful. This includes masks. Deceptions. Lies, specifically. 

And this, of course, extends to lies towards one's self. One could fool themselves with their own lies. It is a practice almost as old as life in this world.

"Thanks for coming, my cube of black sugar," Naru cooes, kissing her feathered cheek whilst smiling. "Opher seems to be running a little late. But how was your first day of work?"

If no-one ever sees what is behind a mask, does the mask in some way become the wearer's new face? At least, to everyone around them, that is. Only the wearer would know the truth behind their layer of a lie.

But at the same time the wearer; a performer ought not to think of that. They cast off their old, true selves and _become_ the mask in their plays. They transform into someone that they would like others to see and believe. That is the essence of an actor -- someone who pretends and lies for one's enjoyment and happiness.

What's more, lies can become truths if repeated enough times. And if one truly believes in a lie, it's not really a lie unless pointed out.

But could a liar lie to themselves with a truth they'd like to believe? And if they really believe in their truth, are they truly liars?

Perhaps. They walk a fine line, though. Simply remembering the previous truth, even for a fleeting second, could cause them to break character. Lying continually is often taxing.

Ku gives Naru her best smile. It is the same one she has given to everyone she delivered to today. They all seemed convinced when she used it, so she'll use it here as well. Even to Mama. Even to Dad. 

Even to Shumi, a reason behind this maskless masquerade.

"It was pretty good," Ku adds. And she begins to tell more; sprinkling an anecdote here, a chuckle there, a twist over here and so on. A good story distracts from the truth, and the Feeling momentarily lightens. This only strengthens her resolve.

She will do it. Ku will give more of herself -- her new self.

She will live this lie until it eventually becomes everyone's truth. No matter the cost, no matter how long. Everyone deserves happiness after all that has happened, and a downer would only make them sad. Ku doesn't want that. So she won't be sad.

And as for her, Ku will hope that her lie turns into her truth. She will also hope for this Feeling to go away, or at least lessen over time. Even a tiny bit of progress would mean that it's working. 

Working to whose favour, however? Herself? Or to everyone around her?

She doesn’t know. She doesn’t want to know. 

The thorns tighten. The weights grow heavier.

Ku smiles on. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theme Song: "Lies" by Will Jay
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MPHHOET0ulY
> 
> The second verse describes Ku's state better because the first one is the singer alluding to his earlier songs in his career so far.
> 
> Also, do you smell that? Is that... sniff sniff ... a thickening plot?


	12. Voices! (Author's Note)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a fun little thing I decided to do: find voices I deem perfect for each of the main characters (and my favourite, non-main-character one) in this fic.

Ku: Nami from League of Legends

Source: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2_ADFrQmF_0&t=15s

Reason: Smooth but somewhat vindictive with the pride of youth, like the flight of an owl.

Shumi: Aurora Aksnes

Source: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c2CFWzKuZS4

Reason: Light, innocent and generally soft, like a newly-lit candle. (Which, if you don't know yet, is what Shumi's name means in Arabic: شمعة)

Naru: Meryl Streep

Source: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xih37kJY988

Reason: I imagine that this is the voice she uses when whispering loving words into the ears of her children. It also presents an interesting dichotomy: how such a smooth, tender voice can belong to someone who has gone through so much. Naru wonderfully reflects the world-weary mother who just wants the best for her kids.

Gumo: Simón Bolívar of Gran Colombia, as presented in Sid Meier's Civilization VI

Source: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=03XKtgt18FM&t=1s

Reason: I unintentionally made Gumo have the spirit of a passionate politician in this fic. He approaches all things logically, including relationships, as the inventor he is and is able to take things apart and see how they all fit. Also, that one chapter with Seir kinda sealed the loving zeal he has for protecting his family. (It also kinda fits the 'hopeless romantic from another country' stereotype, especially towards Naru since I ship them.)

Grom: Cyrus of Persia, as presented in Sid Meier's Civilization VI

Source: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dn9Xn8Pbwdg

Reason: I mean, look at Cyrus. Hella bearded and has that smooth, honey-dulcet voice? I also based my Poetic Geroran on a mixture of Persian and Arabic. It's only fitting.

And one bonus fun fact: Shumi's dormouse ears always droop (like the wax of a candle) even when not feeling sad. They're also slightly too big for her head, and they flop a bit whenever she turns her gaze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just something a little different. I also wanted to post something since I'm having trouble figuring out the next chapter.
> 
> Thanks to all who subscribed and bookmarked -- which I also consider as subs -- this story. It means a lot that even a few take interest in what I'm creating.


	13. Phantasmagoria Pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The continuation of a series of dream-like events.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> writing is hardddddDDDD
> 
> Also: NO MUSIC.
> 
> Have some ambience instead, recommended to listen whilst reading.
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xNN7iTA57jM

_Niwen exhibits a phenomenon most unique and defying of nature._ As the summer approaches with its sweltering fold, provided the winds are still, the snow that caps Baur’s Peak transforms into a cascade of thin mist that blankets the land. 

This beautiful occurrence however, while short-lived, thoroughly dampens fur with little means of drying it other than to stay by a fire on a muggy, windless day. It’s been theorized that the mountain itself gives its snow its long-lasting, sticky trait if evaporated. But regardless, the Moki detest this predicament, more so than missing out on an outdoor noon nap since such relaxing activities are simply cancelled by this dream-like event.

Terrible. Awful. Wretched.

And other similar words that drive them to stay home at an hour so prized this day. 

Except for Veral's kitchen staff and Tuley's orchard hands. Anything for those chordyberries.

Priorities and reality -- two things inseparable from subjectiveness. What the Moki lack is a good grasp on one of them (at least by conventional standards which is, again, subjective), though it is the better option between the two. Things would be quite different if they lacked a grasp on reality, but they would still be harmless even if they did. Their aptitude for adorability would render them as the most trivial of enemies if they fell into that end of the spectrum.

But that premise brings another notion. The idea itself is more possibly more unsettling than that of already being insane. It is also best presented through a question.

What would happen if one was struggling with their grasps on reality and good priorities? Would the struggler recognize that this was happening, that their hold on both was slipping?

And what would outwardly signify this condition taking place?

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


_Two non-Moki tilt their heads in an open, misted field._ And sitting under a fruit tree lit by Lightcatchers within earshot behind them, their parents do likewise albeit in different ways. The mother tilts hers in the opposite direction her children do so, the father downwards with an open notebook in spindly hands. 

For with a leisurely smile on his white-maned face, Opher had just asked: 

"What are you?" 

Three simple words; a complex riddle. A paradox in a second; a lifetime’s worth of pondering.

His question hangs in the warm, shrouded air as his tail curls loosely around his ground-planted staff, the weapon master sitting above them whilst smiling freely upon the curious quartet. A bit of elevation works wonders in capturing attention. It is a simple yet effective dynamic.

He also holds in his calloused hands a worn, string-bound treatise inscribed in an ancient language and currently nibbles on a distinctly unburnt grain stalk. The latter had recently survived a certain spirit’s flame, which is also warm enough to keep the current mist at bay. It creates a small terrarium of clear air in the middle of the otherwise empty field. 

A pencil scratches on parchment behind them. Opher is happy his book is safe. It’s experienced enough damage from the ravages of time.

And lastly, some distance away from them all, an archery target and a monkey-looking mannequin both stand in silence, moderately used. Concentric circles of bright red paint have each been drawn onto them. They watch the group in windless silence with their eyeless eyes of crimson straw. They watch. They wait.

_Why were they here, again?_ Ku then thinks, righting her head. 

A rather good question. That’s the fifth time she’s asked herself that this afternoon. This was all so strange.

The sisters had been told this morning that they would see Uncle Opher after Ku finishes work. Were they here to receive cryptic questions from him? Is that it? That surely can’t be it. 

The owlet then frowns as she focuses on the inquiry. The feathers on her face scrunch up as she thinks. _How was she supposed to answer this? What does Opher mean?_

Shumi goes ahead in the midst of her sister’s confusion. She places a palm to her glowing chest and sits up straight on the grass, and a voice like a candle's flame reflected in a mirror emerges from her lips. It is light and faint, yet resonant with candour as clear as glass. 

“Shumi,” she happily states. Then she adds: “Nana Shumi. Gumo Shumi. Opher friend. Grom _alush_ … _alushfanus_. Veral servant.”

A yellowed page above them slows mid-turn. Opher looks up as his loose smile adopts an amused shade.

"Servant?” he chuckles, raising a bushy eyebrow.

"She means ‘worker,’” Ku corrects her, rolling her eyes. “Veral wants her in his kitchen staff. Like I am."

"Wor … ker,” the spirit repeats, nodding her head with each syllable. “Wor - ker. Worker." 

"I see. And fast one, isn’t she? Only thing missing is her linking verbs. But that’s not what I’m here for, now.”

Naru and Gumo nod approvingly. This wasn’t his purpose for being here. 

Ku and Shumi are unaware of their arrangement. Why would they be?

“What _are_ you here for, Uncle Opher?” Ku then carefully asks. She squints her eyes as if hunting an insect; detecting an opportunity. “Not gonna lie, but this is kinda weird. What are we doing here?”

Her original question has not been answered so far. She should have asked her parents more about this, for she knows they would never lie to her.

Though, she would. To them.

Opher’s reply comes like a river stone; smooth and oblivious. "You'll see,” he says. “But answer my question first. I’ll ask it again.”

As if they have a say on the matter.

The book is returned to as Opher chews on his grain, and he coils his tail a little tighter around his staff. The paradox prior is then repeated, though a little firmer this time. His voice resounds faintly as it bounces off of every hanging droplet.

"What are you?" he asks. 

The owlet remains silent for another windless moment as the master doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. He waits and expects an answer. Everyone does. 

Ku becomes quite conscious of this. 

She glances behind her as Shumi looks to the sky. The mist has worn off ever so slightly, allowing a thin, lone sunbeam to pass through the filter and shine upon the fruit tree where Gumo and Naru sit.

Naru gives the owlet an encouraging smile that glows through the vapour. Gumo nods likewise with a smaller smile, the inventor right under a Lightcatcher. His pencil keeps moving under the lights. His eyes are wary and watching.

Ku then returns to Opher as he turns to another page. And after another brief yet thoughtful while, she supplies an answer. It will do.

"Like what she said, I guess," Ku shrugs, casual as can be. "I'm an owl. An owlet. A daughter and a granddaughter. A worker. A friend to a lot."

Then she glances at the one sitting some distance beside her. 

Ku says: "And … Shumi’s sister, I guess."

The spirit turns to look at her after she says that. Their gazes meet across the misted distance; fire-orange and ink-black. Unbroken, unblinking, unhindered. 

Ku is the first to turn away. She looks straight ahead as if Opher’s staff wasn’t there. Shumi continues to look at her sister as she cocks her head slightly. Neither says anything.

Gumo and Naru heard everything. They also notice this exchange and it is duly noted down.

Opher doesn't notice, though. He continues to read and nibbles on his grain, and he's almost done with both. He shifts the stalk’s position from the right to the left of his mouth. He then hums a sigh.

"Good answers. And all you've said is true," he praises, though slightly distracted. "You both are beloved children, diligent workers, good friends … yada-yada. And there's more to you that you didn’t say, but rather demonstrated. Shumi here’s a quick learner, and Ku can give the right answers."

Shumi smiles at that. Ku shifts her talons on the dry grass. 

Opher continues with his leisurely, enthusiastic tone. It is then he gets to the point of all this.

"But, point is, it's always good to know that which you truly are, for those things make up part of _who_ you are. And should you notice anything that needs correction, you may choose as such. This includes what you can and can't do.

“And! As your new combat instructor, it'll be my honour to help discover and improve upon that which you _can_ , and help you accept that which you _can’t_. It’ll be a journey for all of us; for our minds and our bodies. And your first lesson begins … now.”

Gumo and Naru politely clap at his self-induction. _Finally._

"Please, please," the weapon master pleads, feigning humbleness as he jumps off his staff.

Shumi also claps, a little more excited than her parents. Ku remains quiet, but a smile most cordial is present on her features. She thinks back to what she was told this morning.

‘They would see Uncle Opher.’ 

A half-truth. A form of deception that is not a lie. And as was said: they would never lie to her. They never did. 

Gumo and Naru are unaware of their child’s new knowledge. Why would they be?

The fruit doesn’t fall too far from the tree, nor do its seeds of the next generation.

That being said, why shouldn't she follow in their example?

Deceivers; the lot of them.

  
  


* * *

  
  
_“And when I said ‘knowing what you are,’ I kind of meant it literally, you see.”_

Opher’s intent is made as clear as the sphere of mistless air around them as he cautiously lies the book atop the dry grass before Ku.

A well-crafted diagram of a creature boasting the length of its ink-black wingspan is the first to catch her eye. The fading illustration is tightly embraced by a mystical series of neat swirls, dots and paragraphs that mean nothing to her. For the meantime, that is. 

Eyes of fire-orange dilate as Shumi tries to look as well, resulting in having their heads crowd together. Her flame brightens the page with splashes of flickering white, allowing for an easier read.

Opher then answers a question that had yet to emerge from a beak.

“That’s you, Ku," he whispers.

Simple words of three; a spell that charms and captivates.

The arcane writings on the yellowed pages begin to shift and change before their very eyes as long-kept secrets are released from the stalwart fetters of times past.

It was time for the scion to reclaim her heritage.

It was time she learned the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Catch the symbolisms? All 'o de simbuhlisems.
> 
> Also, gasp? Signs of a developing, healing relationship?
> 
> And would anyone be interested in reading a fic where Shumi fights things? Been thinking about it as of late.


	14. Phantasmagoria Pt. 2.5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The progression of progress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> weeeeeee
> 
> hope you enjoy
> 
> also thumbs up for TwurtleEggy because they mentioned the probable equivalent of Kuro's species, as will be seen later

_The following is a translation of Banqla's Bestiary for Buffoons: Edition Niwen, pages 6 ½._

Some words may not be accurate as Dead Ligolysian (of the extinct Niwenian civilization of Ligolys whose relics come in the form of torch-mouthed statues) is a language that requires specialist studying to expertly understand.

Opher is still learning. He’s an adept apprentice at best and resources regarding this dead society are far and few in between. Some barriers simply grow impassable like a thicket of dense vines given enough time.

But the fact that this treatise was among the texts within the Wellspring must have meant something.

Its _survival_ must have meant something for Ku and those like her out there.

Wherever they are.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


_6_

  
  
  


**_ Obsidian Dart Owls (Avestrigolius specunoctelumius)_ **

_Species_ _: Aegolium_

 _Genus_ _: Strigum_

 _Family_ _: Avestrum_

 _Order_ _: Carnivorium_

 _Class_ _: Mammalium_

 _Kingdom_ _: Animalium_

  
  


_The dominant owl species of Niwen._

_Its scientific name is a soup of 'specua' (glass), 'nocten' (midnight) and 'telumio' (dagger; dart), based on how these owls call themselves "Obsidian Darts" for their unique hunting technique._

_Average Obsidian Darts live up to around 550 years, with the oldest known lemon having lived for 669 years. Most males grow to a height of 12 metres with a wingspan of 17 metres, whilst females grow to 10 metres with a wingspan of 15 metres. That’s a lot of Moki (p. 10 - 15) sleeping on top of each other!_

  
  


_7_

  
  


_Their carnivorous diet consists of most insects though they prefer caterpillars and other worm-like creatures. They also eat smaller woodland fruits (e.g., mice, pine martens, ferrets, deer -- depending on their size at the time)._

_Their innate prowess for hunting is demonstrated at an early age with owlets being able to hunt and fight creatures their own size. Young ones also go through early instruction on how to utilize their special hunting ability. It is essential to their culture and identity; a significant step towards maturity._

_With a grand forward snap of the wings, the feathers at the very bottoj̴͋ń̸̗i̵̲d̶̺̃ s̷͙̾à̵̰b̷̝̃ u̷̪̒ọ̸̽ f̴̬͠d̸͙͆h̸̡̕ȋ̵̟b̴̯͆ o̷̯͝f̴̯̕i̵̧͑ ṵ̸͆ȋ̴̝-ù̶̙---d̴̟̎ f̷͎̎a̴͘ͅs̵̱͒h̶͎͝ ḅ̶̊e̸͍̾q̵̼̉ġ̶̦f̸̯͑ ė̸̥ẃ̷͚b̴͈̾j̶͍̈́--k̵͍̓g̵͚̑ ů̵͕ ĥ̷̲f̵̧͆ḓ̵̓"s̸̝̋y̵̗͐i̴͔͛ t̴̻͝o̵̅͜ě̴͙r̴̟̒ w̶͍j̵͔g̷͕̈k̴͕̂ ḷ̸̂ḍ̶̓r̴̩͝ť̴͕ṣ̵̂, y̷͕͌f̸͇̂ď̷̞i̴̧̕ ǘ̵͔g̸̀ͅ----i̶̻͆ǘ̶̖ g̷̱̐g̶̲̑u̴̮͗ i̵͖̇j̴̳͐f̷͕͊d̴̠̎s̵̢̕j̷̛̘- n̸̘̅ơ̵̤ d̷̼͌f̷̦̽s̸̓ͅÿ̸̡́ ū̶̦g̸̲̋f̶̡̊ď̴̳f̴̯͘ d̶̼̉f̶͙͒d̷̳̈́ s̴̖̾u̶̬͊g̵̛͕ d̸͍̄f̸̯̈́ h̴̻́d̸͕̍ f̸̡̓s̶̺͠--f̸̳̍ǘ̸̙v̸͇̄-b̵̨̅ í̶ͅg̸̠̔ȁ̶̮-u̶̘̍i̴͍̒b̴̞͝o̸͇̍ ǧ̸̟ḃ̷̗-y̷̗̾f̵́͜ d̶̻͋ů̴͇---f̶̰̕d̸̼̀s̴̚͜ û̸̜i̸̥͌ b̸͙͆f̷̖̂ d̷̪́ś̶̗ḍ̶̿ y̶̪͆u̴͈͠ v̴̝͂d̶̖̎f̴̞̀s̷̪̽ y̵͈̏ḯ̷̡o̸͍ f̴͔ď̷̜f̴̘̐ë̶̩h̷̖̔b̸̕ͅ f̵̧͐d̷̯͗h̶̼͠y̸͎̚ĩ̸̻ w̴̧̓é̷͎b̷͙h̶̥̐ụ̵̂f̸̫̽ d̶̠͐s̶͖̄b̵͖̐ f̴͚͋d̴̛͙s̷̘̆ h̴̪̄b̷̹͗f̷͔̈ ḏ̸̚h̴̞͘b̴͖͌-d̴͍͠f̶̥̆d̶̙͗ b̸̘̉h̵̯̆j̸̪̽f̷̑ͅd̷̟͋ y̴̭ḯ̶͇ĥ̶ͅf̶̼͗d̶̜̏ ḫ̷͂-b̴̥̎f̴̼̽ḍ̷͋ h̸̦̐b̷̭̎d̴̳̔---h̵̐͜b̴̙͝---d̶̬͗s̷̼̓ f̵͇̾ḅ̵̂h̶͚d̵͍̈ṣ̷̚._

The rest of the seventh page is unreadable.

* * *

  
  
  


_From the fiery eruption of a raging volcano to the patient march of mould on brittle wood-pulp paper, Nature is a resourceful artisan in her methods of destruction._

But Opher has no room for complaint. 

It is a marvel how this bestiary survived its damp storage conditions, though it's more of a miracle in its timely usage today. What were the odds that a surviving owl remnant -- hailing from a distant land, too -- would come along, find this and learn more of her ancestry hidden from her by unfortunate circumstance? This surely must have meant _something_ , and Opher was never known to be superstitious.

Fortunately for Ku, the weapon master is clever enough to fill in the blanks left in Banqla's time-tortured handiwork. And just as fortunately for Opher, a curious owlet is compliant as she raises a wing on his request.

Opher knows what he is doing, or at least what he intends to do. He almost always does. Naru and Gumo would not have approached him and asked that he do this for the children, had he not. He is even trusted to make fighters out of capable Moki, a daunting task by the sound of it alone.

The weather today had other ideas, though. Not that he would mind if it didn’t, of course.

Opher now squat-waddles a little closer to Ku, giving the owlet a warm smile whilst carefully closing the book. They would no longer need it. It's fully served its purpose.

Ku, still clueless, smiles back. Such a cute, bright smile. Opher is honoured to have such adorable nieces.

And what he does is simple. Very simple.

He doesn't even say a word. 

That’s how simple it is.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


_Opher likes receiving all kinds of surprises. They keep the heart warm; the blood flowing; a life alive._

And yes, he deserved that backhand slap from an angered Gumon. 

And sure, he admits that a warning would have been nice for his face and to everyone around. Ku, especially. 

“Yes, yes, I get it,” he murmurs, a dazed grin on his features. “You love her. I get it.” 

“But would you look at _that_ ," he adds.

As a second sunbeam shines through the shrouds of parting mist, a dark owlet’s feather is lifted for all to see. 

Like said, he deserved that backhand after pulling that off -- quite literally -- but he simply wasn't able to resist. Hindsight is his favourite class since it takes on an abundance of interesting forms. He never knows what he will get.

It’s like opening a box of candies whilst knowing that half of them are spicy peppers in sugary disguise. Because in retrospect, it would be smarter not to eat them, but where’s the fun in that? The zest? The wisdom to be attained? 

He just likes to see what happens within reason, eclectic madman that he is.

"Wait, how did you get that?" Ku asks, orange eyes wide. She looks at her wing, now noticing the gap in the feathered fold. 

She returns to Opher. "I didn't feel a thing!"

"There would have been much more noise if you did, my dear," he breezily chuckles. "And don't worry. I’m plenty sure it'll grow back! It would be strange if a predator’s hunting ability could be performed just once in their entire life.” 

“Now hush! Observe that which makes you, Ku.”

Like they had any other choice.

Everyone then watches in rapt attention as the feather transforms in his fingers.

Standing up from a drooping bend, the soft barbs that run along the straightening shaft begin to join with one other. They smoothen in unison, harmoniously flatten, and sharpen along their merging edges whilst a sound akin to ice being shaven crackles softly from it as it solidifies.

That happens within a second. After the next, it has taken on a glassy, opaque hue. It even holds Opher’s reflection.

The final product glints softly under the warm, growing sunlight. The weapon master takes several lazy swipes and swings, observing how it cuts through the swirling trails of lingering mist.

Then he turns and throws it. It sails through the air; a silent, graceful arc; a dark arrowhead in the midst of a ghostly, airborne sea.

And Ku's feather embeds itself in the centre of a red-ringed chest. The mannequin would have clapped were it alive and lacking pain sensors.

Which it didn’t, because it couldn’t. It would have, though.

Opher then returns with his open, carefree smile. It almost as if he didn't get slapped. He directs it specifically at Ku and Shumi, their contrasting forms jittering with excitement. Naru and Gumo also join in in the elation.

"Now then," the master grins, perkily clapping his hands together. "Shall we begin our training for real, this time?"

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


_"As I have said a-plenty, Ku," comes Opher's calm 'I'm-at-my-limit' voice._

The owlet’s wings are lightly tapped with the end of his bamboo staff. He goes on to say, “You’re only fanning the dummy and keeping it dry from the mist. It’s the pull _back_ that generates the force. _Not_ the swipe forward. The feathers on your forewings will drag your speed and the bottom feathers won’t detach.”

“But I _did_ as you _said_ , Uncle Opher,” Ku complains by mimicking his stresses. She folds her aching limbs against her torso and ruffles her feathered form. “And even when I pull back, the feathers already slow me down.”

“Then we’ll simply have to improve on that. Endurance _and_ speed for your forewings,” he tautly replies. “Training is rarely a breeze, you know. And I’m being nice.”

Ku grumbles to herself, looks at the grass beneath her and proceeds to stomp at it with her talons. The earlier excitement that had filled her bones has evaporated into rose-tinted steam along with all her willing vigour. 

The same could not be said for Naru and Gumo, though.

“You got this, Ku!” Gumo cheers.

“Just one step at a time, my dear!” Naru adds. “No rush! None at all!”

Shumi just watches, sitting with them. She also blinks from time to time like most creatures with eyelids.

They’re really trying. But it's more embarrassing than it is endearing.

And thing is, after spending twenty minutes trying to decipher that ‘forward snap’ and not making any visible headway, the cheering has started to grind the owlet's ears into the dust. She doesn’t have the heart to ask them to stop, either. Those cheers were for her. They wanted to give them.

And to top it all off, Shumi had demonstrated her current powers in that timespan. It wasn't a bullseye, but the archery target had been set alight with a loose beam of energy that fired from her finger (which had to be the index finger and ‘activated’ by clicking an extended thumb, for some reason). 

_So that's how she fought the Snapper,_ everyone thought.

_Showoff,_ Ku also thought behind her newly default smile. _Because why not, right?_

The recoil also caused the spirit to fall flat onto her behind, followed with a sneeze and a rumble from her belly. No wonder she ate those berries that day. Not that she had known any better then, though.

Ku now glances at her teacher. Then she lowers her gaze to glare at the book safely tucked under his arm. 

“Did the writer make some kinda dumb mistake?” Ku asks. “What you’re teaching isn’t working. It _feels_ wrong, too.” 

Opher immediately shakes his head as he squeezes the book a little tighter, even shifting his body to hide it behind him. Defensive. Of the safety of the text or of his teaching, Ku is uncertain.

“There cannot be an error,” he firmly asserts. “This Banqla fellow was an eyewitness to the Darts when they were around. They had plenty chances to see how they did it, unless they were trying to lie to the readers. But what reason would they have to do such a thing, to write an entire _book_ full of lies? It's a very inefficient scam or prank, at most!"

“So maybe I should fly on over onto their grave and ask them how they did it, then," Ku snarks, turning her back towards him. “‘Cause flying’s the only thing I’m good at, it seems.”

Then she straightens her back and raises her head away from him. A proud-looking, stock-still pose. She seems finished on the first day.

Opher's grip on his staff bears white knuckles. He deeply breathes in, breathes out. The exhale gently disturbs but a single blade of grass.

Naru and Gumo watch on, their eyes threatening to droop. Were their plans to fall apart so soon?

“Now listen here, Ku,” Opher says, his voice steely calm as he loosens his grip. “The one thing I truly dislike are quitters who think they can -- "

“Wait,” Ku interrupts.

Staying in place as she faces the mannequin; at the dagger sticking out of its ringed chest, her voice is far away yet near like answers that teeter at the tip of tongues. It is this voice that halts Opher in his tracks. How unexpected. A surprising depth.

He decides to entertain her. Sternly. 

“What?” he sighs.

“What … what did I just say just now?” Ku asks, her voice genuine. “I mean, I get that this kinda question is supposed to be the other way around, like, _I_ have to ask _you_ what you said, but, like -- ”

"Flying is the only thing you’re good at," comes the chase cut to. "S’what you said.”

Ku nods at that.

"Right," she whispers, spreading her wings in quiet reverence and swirling the lingering mist. "Flying. Flight."

Her teacher is visibly confused. He tilts his head behind her. Gumo and Naru hear nothing from their distance but do the same anyway. Shumi does it because everyone else is doing it.

Opher opens his mouth again.

"What -- "

But it doesn't matter what his question was going to be. It would have gotten the same wordless answer: a blur of black and a patch of trampled grass sans Ku.

She takes to the clearing skies for the first time this session. Everyone raises their hands to their eyes, blocking the emerging sun and its rays. Even Shumi watches. 

A dark arrow in a firmament of white and blue. The ground falls away and the huts shrink into dollhouses. Opher, Naru, and Gumo become ants. Shumi is a glowing dust speck against the green.

She takes a deep breath as she ascends further, further, further. She closes her eyes and retreats into her mind, her thoughts, her inner sanctum. It is the only thing that gives her warmth in the cooling, boundless air.

 _Please_ , she thinks. 

_Please_ , she prays.

 _Please,_ she wishes.

… 

It goes unanswered. 

She ignores it. She opens her eyes. She goes further.

She rises above the dissipating shrouds of mist and plunges headfirst into the lower cloud level. Then she goes past that. The air grows even colder, but the sun warms her further with all its burning glory. 

All this is reminiscent. It reminds her of a moment. She enters a window of a peaceful time past.

Just her, the light, and the sky; where nothing could touch them.

She takes a deep, chilly breath. She exhales a plume of mist.

Then she whispers simple words of three.

“For you, Ori."

She arches backwards. Her flying form crescents. She folds her wings against her torso.

Ku begins to dive with all her might.

She plunges through the clouds, through the mist, the ground approaches fast. The trees grow bigger. The houses grow bigger. The lanterns grow bigger. Everyone in the Glades is below her. She sees her family, too. She struggles to see.

Opher grows bigger. Gumo grows bigger. Naru and Shumi grow bigger. The mannequin grows along with the smouldering archery target. They watch on. Everyone does. Ku is a black flash in their vision.

An Obsidian Dart. Befitting of her heritage; of what she is.

Of who she is.

And at the very last second, she sharply extends her wings and flaps back with all her might.

" _SCRAAAAAAAAAH!_ "

Her wings veritably snap forward as they quickly expend the momentum. There is no pain as the energy plunges into her end feathers. They simply detach. They harden into black glass mid-flight.

This feels … natural.

Feels _right_.

They riddle and ribbon the mannequin. They nail its temple, its torso, its abdomen, its heart, its right eye, its neck. The wooden pillar that supports its standing stance trembles slightly from the successive blows. 

Those are the only parts she gets. The rest of the feathers simply spin and flutter before solidifying and crashing to the ground like meteors.

But still. Still!

Six on the first go? This calls for a celebration!

"That was amazing, Ku!" Naru cries, catching and squeezing a soft owlet with equally soft arms. "Well done, well done!"

Ku feels a hand excitedly ruffle her feathers on top. She then swivels her gaze to see a grinning Gumon step closer towards her. No words are needed here, but a proud kiss on her forehead says it all.

"That was … wow," Opher murmurs, approaching whilst smiling beneath his snowy mane. "Just wow. Certainly a theatrical surprise, but … well done. Good thinking, too. And I'm not saying I told you so, but, I told you so."

Ku can't help but smile. _Truly_ smile. How could she not? 

This was … is … what she wanted. 

But the owlet was forgetting someone. Someone important.

She eagerly rushes towards them all with a bright smile, a bounce in her hooved steps, a slightly bigger flame. A phosphorescent apparition.

"See, Ku? Even your sister liked your performance!" fawns Naru as she carefully lets the owlet stand by herself once more.

"Sister performance! Sister performance!" Shumi claps. She stops a few steps away from Ku, goes no further.

Still have to work on that, huh.

But then she falls silent and stares at Ku with intense, dark eyes. The owlet warily steps back until her tail touches Naru's side. Even Naru and Gumo tense up a little. Opher simply observes, interested.

What will happen next?

"What is 'sister?'" Shumi then asks, tilting her horned head.

And for the first time in what felt like an eternity, Ku feels … a little lighter. There also sparks a certain wisp of unexpected warmth; a small, tender glow from within her heavy heart.

It feels nice, she admits. It really, truly does.

But would she embrace it? Could she?

Ku supplies her answer with a gentle voice. She doesn't forget to smile. It is important to smile.

"Some thing that I am."

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


_Entry Number 2_

_Grom was happy to see her again. Even made her a new doll (w/ newly bandaged fingers). Shumi & Ku match now _

_Tested to see if she can touch lava w/o hurting herself. Will use Gorlek ore to imitate lava_

_Result: immune. Can sit & stand in a small bucket of it + carry small portions at a time w/ bare hands. Suspect she might enjoy working in the smithy w/ jadah, if not skilled at it _

_2nd experiment: can melt metal w/ hands? Using another Gorlek ore sample. Starting small*_

_Result: yes. But displays exhaustion and acute hunger after doing it. Maybe will grow stronger over time? Flame grows a little bigger as she does it_

_Rest of morning, nothing else happened. Talked with that Gorlek who flirted with you again_ **?????**

_*3 pounds of Gorlek ore_

**He was just being nice :p**

**Veral was excited to see her. Shumi didn't share the same feeling. Not yet.**

**Aside from heating the cauldron again and helping prep food for dinner (surprisingly good with a knife), nothing special happened from her. Or maybe she's just tired after melting the metal earlier.**

**At least we know that heating stuff is easy for her.**

_Attending Opher's 1st training lesson. Kids don't seem angry about it but sitting far apart. Will change eventually_

_Shumi can evaporate mist around her. Estimated 5 ft radius. Really a lantern like Grom said_

_Ku said Shumi was her sister! Unexpected. Trying to connect by herself? Good first sign_

_Should ask Opher to borrow his b_ **ook**

**Shumi shot archery target w/ her flames. Pointed her finger, extended her thumb & 'clicked' it. Fire rushed along her arms, from her flame, making a beam of light that shot out. Also got hungry again. Must be increasing her metabolism.**

**At least we know how she survived the wild.**

**Ku** **acknowledged!** **Shumi as her sister again :)**

**Turns out, those feathers are not needed for flight. She can fly fine w/o them.**

**Opher wants to collect her feathers & turn them into training knives for Moki. Ku said OK. Not much use for us but they are pretty.**

**Kids also seem fine in returning to training tmr. Our plan is still a-go.**

**Great first day in getting them to connect. Ku is happier with the attention, too.** ****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: "Candle in the Heart" by Kokia, a song of light, warmth and tender hope :)  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6A8QwNLXSYY
> 
> I used this to reference Kuro's size: https://www.deviantart.com/skydiamand/art/OATBF-character-sizes-783150532
> 
> Also 'Ligolys' is a word joined from ancient Greek words meaning 'stone' and 'song', because of that one music puzzle in the game.
> 
> More translations from Latin, the descendant of ancient Greek:
> 
> Aves = bird  
> Strig = owl  
> Aegolius = specific designation for Boreal Owls (thumbs up again for Twurtle)  
> Speculo = glass  
> Nocte = midnight  
> Telum = knife; dart
> 
> And speaking of songs for candles, I found a theme song for Shumi! Just had to wait until it was released, apparently. Chose it because it is whimsical like Ori's theme, but focuses more on themes of passion and energy like the fire child she is. What's more, candles shine brightest from dusk till dawn; in-between the twilight.
> 
> Also there's a very short vocal at the very beginning which is reminiscent of whenever Ori absorbed light from a new Ancestral Tree. In this case, it's supposed to represent the moment Shumi was born in the wild.
> 
> "Between Twilight" by Lindsey Stirling
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b50Gb3bPNI8
> 
> Lastly, how is the story and the writing at this point? Is it getting better, is it still enjoyable, does it need improvement? Please let me know. Been a while since I asked this.


	15. Aflutter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A collaborative work in progress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was challenging to write

_As the family fell into their new routines,_ discoveries were made, understandings were gained and tender hopes abounded like the golden summer grain.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


**Entry 3**

**Feathers grew back overnight! Must watch more to see exactly how long. Ku very hungry this morning: probably side effect.**

**What’s w/ kids getting hungry after using abilities??**

_Grom showed prototype sketches of training knife 4 Moki made w/ feathers. “Real obsidian very fragile but feather’s fibre patterns = slight more flexible = more durable!” ~ G_

_K also looked proud, promise 2 give more after training. Why not?_

_G gave S another gift: goggles. Bit 2 big even at tightest mode, but she loves it. Now imagining her welding w/ her fingers. In future?_

_1st test: what max temp can S turn flames white? Forge lowered to 2000° fahrencius / ~1090° cellenheit_

_Result: inconc. No change in flames & she tried. Must be 2 big. Or she's 2 small right now _

_No other tests, they need forge a lot today. Rest of a.m. S helped around w/ G ( & w/ new gogs) _

**Veral gave a scented candle, but she melted it. Dislikes him? Probably because he’s noisy. ☹ 1st time saw him wordless. Smelled good though.**

**Accident! Someone spilled flambéing sauce and fire spread to a curtain.**

**Shumi touched flames, they turn white, went into her body thru hands. Her flame grew slightly. Curtain still damaged, sauce mess remained. She went outside, burped fire!, flame shrunk back.**

**Defi can control small flames & medium fireplace, also starting to understand situations where others are at risk even tho she might not be affected. How sweet ㋡**

**Hopefully will apply to Ku soon.**

_Second training w/ Oph. No mist, Moki joined_

_After K shot darts (30 shots like yesterday, 10 hits today) and S shot fire again (little better than before), Oph train kids 2 move faster. Moki had slings and berries, stood from cliff & try shoot them while K & S try 2 dodge _

_Went expected for 1st time. Start OK, both messy quick. K still fly, but slower w/ added berry juice weight. “Will make wings stronger & faster, might shoot feathers while standing if she cont.” ~ Oph _

_Kids went 4 quick baths & returned 4 more training. Did this til end of session. Moki __very good_ _w/ slings →_ _archery targets_ _. One very good w/ sword, wears fang pendant to stick out more, of course_

_S returned 1st every bath “Powers dry her faster. Flame becomes tiny but burns in water” ~ K_

**Feathers grow back faster than expected. When got home, already fully formed. Must be within ~3 hrs (since last used)!**

**No big progress today, but they spent time swimming together & Shumi looked at Ku more. Must be curious of her ㋡ **

_Or cautious_

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


_Even if those hopes were justly doubted._

Most days were ordinary and plain, though. 

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


_Entry Number 5_

_Smithy starting 2 get many feathers,_ _70 unused stock_ _. Will have 2 use them 4 other things (arrowheads, spearheads, jewellery?). At least Oph's students will get their daggers today_

_1st test: forge raised to 1100° fahrencius / ~ 590° cellenheit_

_Result: white_

_2nd: 1200° fahrencius / ~ 650° cellenheit_

_Result: could not turn white. Finally found limit_

_3rd: 1150° fahrencius / ~ 620° cellenheit_

_Result: struggled but managed. Found new training for S? Or will naturally dev?_

_"Can melt tin, lead and almost Gorlek ore with those temps" ~ G_

**When Ku came back for another lunch delivery, Shumi paused & looked at her until she left. Paid close attention from afar. Defi curious of her like yesterday and day before.**

**Veral still trying to get Shumi to like him, not much progress. Shumi also** very good with knives. Must have gotten from Ori.

_Oph's students very happy w/ daggers, said thnx to K. K obv loved attention and got more friends. Why not?_

_20 dart hits, 10 per shot (130 unused stock), S aim also same_

_Same training like yesterday: berry bullets & quick baths. But K & S moving little faster, more aware, trying to dev techniques. Oph thumbs up 4 experiments _  
  


* * *

  
  
  


_But it is often in those uneventful hours that the small things are magnified, where even whispers turn into resounding calls._

“Sister … ” comes a gentle yet wary murmur.

Gumo looks up from his dinner bowl, Naru from her bowl and their (open) notebook. Even Ku lifts her gaze to look at Shumi, who tilts her glowing head as she looks back.

Everyone except Shumi thinks the same things. Did she just speak to her? Or was it a trick of multiple minds?

“Sis … ” she calls again as if the word were a curiosity from a distant, foreign land.

Her dissimilar horns then tilt the other direction, the flame in between moving likewise. Her eyes blink once-twice as pale pupils train themselves on the owlet sitting away from her. She lowers her spoon into her half-finished stew, maintaining steady eye contact.

Ku’s expression is unreadable, but she continues to return Shumi's gaze. Their alert stares don’t break, don’t waver; a silent stalemate with unclear intentions from either side. For now.

Their parents look back and forth between them. Meals are lowered and pages are closed as hands are silently readied. Gumo furrows his brow at Naru then discreetly nods at Ku. Naru nods back, readies her feet, turns her body towards Shumi.

Just in case. But nothing happens for a wordless moment as the fireplace burns nearby, as the nightly crickets chirp away at the moon with their incessant song.

Until Ku flinches. 

She quickly stands as Shumi does; a blur of light moving upright. Shumi also freezes at Ku’s startled reaction; the quickened rise and falls of her black, feathered chest. 

The spirit’s tail swishes pensively behind her. The owlet shuffles the straw on the floor with nervous taps of the feet.

Ku glances at Naru, then at Gumo. Her talons do not extend but her wings do, and the feathers at the fringes shiver slightly as she shields herself.

 _What does she want?_ plead her big, orange eyes. 

_We do not know yet._ They shift onto their knees as if ready to leap. 

Shumi then starts moving towards her cornered, frightened sister. She pauses again as Ku steps further back and utters a caw with distended feathers. Yet the spirit pushes on, though much slower and with lowered ears; her hooved steps softened by the downy straw beneath them.

The light of the fireplace washes their sides; orange flickerings on obsidian and wax.

Everyone is positive that the room grows warmer; that their heartbeats thunder; that the sisters draw nearer.

That the unstoppable approaches the immovable. That the collision is apparent and inevitable.

Then they meet. No distance separates them. It is a concept that existed a second, two seconds, now three seconds ago.

Naru and Gumo lower their hands with their mouths open, eyes wide. They stay like that for another moment, staring dumbstruck at the scene before them. Surely, what they were seeing was entirely possible and quite ideal.

They just didn’t expect it to happen so soon.

Ku and Shumi, still facing each other, now sit together as they quietly dine. They awkwardly avert their eyes when their gazes cross and their mouths open only to accept more stew. They also flinch a little whenever they mistakenly touch each other, but they settle like fallen leaves when the winds die down.

They are sitting together.

_Sitting. Together._

And when no-one awakens from a dreamful slumber and realizes that this is the reality, Naru and Gumo both give way to big smiles and swelling hearts. They simply can't help themselves. But why should they?

It was another moment to remember; another milestone to pen down, unexpected as it was. For amid an ordinary day was found more reasons for hope to shine through, even from something as simple as two sisters sitting together.

Truly, like a tiny nugget of gold, such moments are sifted and held to the light from amongst the dull river silt -- especially if one searches for it.

But of course, not all days were plain; not in this world. 

Some had their fair share of excitement and joy.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  


_Entry Number 7_

_Smithy needs 2 refill coal. Someone has go 2 mine & get some _

_Great chance 2 see how bright S flame is_

_Grom lantern = 65 candles, orange light, good bright_

_S flame similar, but naturally brighter bc its white: 68 candles_

  
  
  
  
  


_hiding from skeeto_

_help help help_

_why is this happening_

_grom cant fight_

_how how how how did it get here???????????_

_writing to stay calm_

_should have learned 2 fight trapped trap trap trap_

_why of all days_

_cant see other exits_

_tell naru & ku i love them _

_i cant fight hes 2 slow_

_can shumi fight it_

_100 candles_

_Got coal_

_Need sleep_

**Shumi pulled a knife from her flame.**

**Just reached in, pulled it out.**

**OK.**

**Solid light/fire? Both?**

**Cooks/toasts as it cuts. Ow. Fizzles out when done with it.**

**Veral stunned. Fainted and needed his smelling salts. “He’s never done that before” ~ Moki staff.**

**Can’t wait to show this to Ku and Opher.**

**Ku is quickly getting better with her new technique! Only ten darts with each shot. If only you were here to see.**

**Shumi is practising throwing knives. Decent aim. They match!!!**

**Why am I happy of my children wielding weapons?**

**Ku & Shumi also suddenly moving faster, dodging better. Or are the Moki nervous?**

**Ku weaves, glides, spirals. So quick & sharp.**

**Shumi sidesteps, spins, (sometimes) shoots a berry. So bright, a flash!**

**Goggles were also a great gift. Protects the eyes from berry juice.**

**Wonderful** **progress like yesterday. You should have been here to see it.**

**Ku shielded Shumi from a berry!**

**Then Ku laughed. Left her sitting on the messy floor.** **So much for that.**

**Shumi also laughed. Got up and went for a bath with her.**

**It’s going to be** **that ** **kind of sistership. The best kind ㋡**

**They also returned together after each bath, too.**

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


_And some had their lots of setbacks and letdowns._ Such things are bound to happen, though.

Reality often presents itself with sun-dappled petals and waspish thorns.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


**Entry 8**

**Moving them together was a** mistake. Way too early even if Ku said yes.

**They argued, had a racket up there this morning. Shumi took Ku’s doll when she was sleeping, didn’t want to return it when she woke.**

**Seemed to really hurt Ku.**

**Worried how this will affect things.**

_S very quiet despite big progress in speech the past few days. Grandpa worried 2 + drooping ears tell much, but not all_

_Asked what’s wrong during break. Said she just wanted 2 play with 2 dolls & doesn’t understand fuss _

_Still has stuff 2 learn. Both do. Did my best 2 comfort & teach meantime _

**Ku was quite normal in the kitchen, like nothing happened. Even said hello to Shumi once, but you saw that.**

**We know better tho.**

**Shumi distracted when helping around. Knife fizzled out when she’s using it.**

**Maybe your words helped her to think?**

**She even began seriously listening to Veral. This is new.**

_K & S sat a little further apart compared 2 past few days when listening to Oph. Tried not to look at each other (S feels guilty?), but K tried to act natural: worst oxymoron ever _

_Got a little competitive. K threw darts (6 per swipe), S threw daggers, each trying 2 best each other (or trying to impress?)_

_Ended in a tie, thankfully_

_That made it worse_

_Both got quickly drenched in berries every time_

_Mostly because they are tripping/knocking each other (K started)_

_Would have done something, Oph held us back_

_“Some things just have to sort themselves out” ~ Oph_

_Even a broken sundial is correct once every century_

_Said nothing 2 each other on the way home_

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


_But such days can be seconds when held against the likes of a joyous hour._

They are momentary and passing, unlike the long-lasting rewards that lie in store.

"I'm sorry, sister," Shumi says.

Pages and spoons are lowered again whilst heads and eyes are lifted. Dinner has become a strange medium of time that exists between the starry evenings and the folds of comfortable beds.

Shumi looks at Ku again, their faces awash with flickering orange like two nights ago. The owlet likewise returns her gaze with quiet, level eyes. Warm air, warm light and lingering pride are all that separate them.

An apology. It was coming from the one who ought to give it, too. Surely a step in the right direction.

Naru glances at Gumo, who humbly bows his head with a faint smile. Seems like his words did something after all.

They then turn their heads towards a silent, maturing Ku.

It is also at that moment that Ku turns to look at them. She awkwardly drops her gaze in response, looking at the soft straw beneath her talons. She remains like this for another moment as all eyes are on her.

Then she raises her head. 

A telling smirk spreads across her feathered features.

"I was waiting for you to say that," she says.

She even spreads her sweeping wings and holds them open that way. Shumi's eyes brighten as she quietly lowers her bowl. 

"Come on already and give your sister a -- "

There was no need to finish that sentence.

As glowing arms embrace her and her dark wings wrap around that, Naru and Gumo give way to smiles and swelling hearts once more.

A wrong absolved; forgiveness bestowed; acts impossible to do alone.

And as the day draws to its close, so too will a new one begin.

It's been three weeks and four days since Shumi was born; since Ori embraced the light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theme Song: "First Light" by Lindsey Stirling
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ScVWkYZkZFk&list=WL&index=2&t=0s
> 
> The visuals in this video are on point in regards to symbolism.
> 
> For as Shumi learns how to handle the light, so too will Ku learn to embrace it.


	16. Logic & Superstition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Irregularities occur one way or another.
> 
> But it is through them one discovers aspects of their character and that of others.

_Ku had never been to Opher’s house before. Not that that was bad, but neither was it good. A justifiable reason just never arose for her._

But wordings are important. Emphasis on ‘had.’

Not to mention, the master came out to teach for the past seven days. He offered a schedule; a form of structure they all got into, and his lessons had seemed a regular affair given his current track record (albeit a short one). 

Seemed.  
  
Implications, implications and the many meanings they may carry.

Come to think of it, the only constant to him is his irregular pulling of unexpected antics … which is something he does on a regular basis … which then should be irregular … but _that_ makes it regular … which … only makes it … 

… 

_… wha?_

Behold the mighty Opher and his vexing antics, for he is always present though not necessarily amongst those who think of him.

Ku shakes her head, halting that nonsensical treadmill of weird thought. She focuses on the task at hand; the wind beneath her mute wings. Flying is starting to feel good again. That’s a good sign. A sign of progress.

Meanwhile, absurd paradoxes (or thoughts that get no-one anywhere) can be thoroughly puzzled over later. The mere thought of him exerts a strange influence on her, even if she hasn’t heard his voice today. Perhaps leaving him alone _is_ good in the sense of maintaining her current grasp on sanity. 

But Ku is getting ahead of herself. She’s not being fair to him, and she knows this; realizes this. So for courtesy’s sake, she shall.

… try.

She shall try to be fair. Better than not trying in the slightest, right?

Right. Obviously.

Landing on a sturdy porch situated high off the ground, the owlet gives the doorbell string a good tug with her beak. Its cheery, coppery jingle rings clear through the air, surely notifying anybody within this tree-dangled bungalow. Oddly for her (the owlet also noticing the oddness), Ku was not surprised when she learned of her teacher’s choice of abode. It’s fitting for someone like him: climb-inclined, whatnot.  
  
_Oh no_ , she then thinks. Blinks. Blinks.

_I’m starting to think like him. Yikes. Yikes._

It thankfully doesn’t take long until she hears muffled footfalls. Then the rattle of the handle, then a squeak of new hinges. And standing under the round door frame with an old scroll under a strong, lithe arm is none other than the bearded … book-loving … 

_Blink. Blink. Blink-blink._

… _bespectacled_ monkey.

She blinks again, then again. Once more for good measure.

There is no change to Opher's peculiar visage. Of course, there isn’t. Of course.  
  
_Blinks._

Glasses. He wears glasses. Things that correct wrong eyesight. Right. He suddenly wears them now, just when things were returning to normal. Of course. Of _course_.

This day just keeps getting better and better, it seems.

They stand there for a while, neither saying a word. Opher gazes upon Ku's white face whilst she stares dumbstruck at what squats on his face. Her pupils shrink; her focus heightens when he daintily readjusts them on his nose’s bridge. The oncoming summer winds that rustle the leaves do little to melt the slab of ice between them.

Opher shatters it. Why should he wait?

Awkwardness is a concept nonexistent for those oblivious.

“Reading glasses,” he responds, to a question that was never asked. 

He smiles breezily in a self-assured manner, as if those two words and that expression would sort everything out for her.

“Seen ‘em before?” he then lightly prods.

Ku suffices a curt nod, snapping to attention from amongst the melting silence. 

_Say something, dummy._

" … Saw them before, yeah. But what I _didn’t_ see was you, or the other students today."

Opher blinks at that. Adjusts his glasses. Blink-blinks.

"You're here for an apology.”

Would be nice, now that it was mentioned. He sounded so sure of it, too.

But the owlet shakes her head. That’s not what she’s here for. 

"Just an explanation," she meekly replies. “Mama wants one. A good one.”

Opher pinches his chin. "As to why I wasn’t there and didn’t tell you in advance?"

"One instead of two, huh? A bargain. Let’s hear ‘em.”

The bearded monkey smirks at that. The dark owlet does likewise. Witty, witty pair that they are.

The master sighs. He drops his smile. Scratches his chin. Begins to explain.

"'Twas a mistake on my part, that second thing," he starts. "Only realized when I came back after lunch. Hoped you'd just leave when the Moki didn't show up, but … good to know you're one to see things through. That’s good. Quite so."

Ku shifts her talons on the floorboards but says nothing. Opher thus continues.

"As for the first thing, I give my students a free day after a week of good training. S'good to grow physically and exert yourself to your highest potential, but s'equally important to rest the mind; refresh the soul. To take the time to smell the flowers. To enjoy the company of those close to you. If you can and want to, that is."

Ku moves her head like a weighed-down sheaf of clean paper caught by a lukewarm breeze. She blankly nods once in response to the disturbance passed through the uncertain air. At least she acknowledges the current’s existence. That’s something. Better than nothing, right?

_Right. Obviously._

And Opher smiles at that. It is almost apologetic. 

Speak simply to a child who thinks as simply. He is reminded; receives lessons every day despite his avid scholarliness. Everybody needs reminders at times, like how his glasses need regular readjustment. They give a little jiggle as he does so.

He also intends to rattle her memory. Just a bit.

"And speaking of admiring nature and … spending time with loved ones … " he kindly says, choosing his words with easy care. 

"Is there not one particular tree whom you haven't visited for the whole week or so?"

Amber eyes dilate subtly. Opher catches this and smiles a touch wider. They know; they realize; they grow. 

“Eight, actually,” Ku answers. “Eight days.”

“Eight you say?” Opher repeats, stroking his chin in thought. “Eight days. Eight blinks. Eight’s a good number. Eight’s lucky, some even say. Now here’s the eighth mention of that lucky number … ”

Ku doesn’t blink this time. Opher finishes his thought.

“ … or so I heard of its fortune.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, how many times did Ku blink in this chapter?
> 
> And guess who's still sticking with the idea that Opher's culture takes from that of Chinese culture.
> 
> ALSO
> 
> Guess who wasn't slacking and joined the 7FF (Seven Forest Fanon) and wrote some stuff there.
> 
> Please join their discord. Their creators are dedicated, talented, supportive (and a little mad, which we all love) and are total fans of the Ori series that want to expand Ori's world beyond Nibel and Niwen, creating (yes, still in the works) five other forests with their own Spirit Trees, Wisps and other non-light races.
> 
> Join here! https://discord.gg/Z2eZCfy


	17. Fruition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The culmination of ones' dreams.

_It was graciously taken as a splendid idea. What reasons did they have to think otherwise?_

The weather was wonderful, too, with open skies and breezy winds. It was the perfect setting for an outdoor noon nap as the Moki so truly cherish.

“And say,” starts a shaded Naru, clasping her hands whilst under the training field’s bare fruit tree. “Why don’t we have a picnic as well? Perfect day for it. I’ll go home, get some worms for Ku, and I’ll also get some juice.”  
  
“Then, in that case, the rest of us can swing by Tuley’s and get some fresh fruits for us?”

“Who else’d they be for?” she snickers, Ku and Shumi cheekily joining her. "But that'd be wonderful, Gumo, and you two. Thank you."

She is replied to with a dimpled smirk as Gumo rubs the kids’ heads. Neither Ku nor Shumi object to these arrangements as they tenderly hoot and purr, looking up at Naru and Gumo with beaming, adorable faces.

It’s remarkable how far they’ve come. 

Their progress after nearly a month is something to behold, and Gumo and Naru’s plan to bring the kids together is bearing much fruit; anyone would see that. Now, all who look upon them would see a healing but joyful family, like a righted sapling regaining its roots after a merciless, vicious storm.

They are beacons of light, ones that have weathered against darknesses of a different sort.

But where would they be without their friends? Everyone then shields their eyes as one of the children blurs upwards, sending the grass beneath them rippling and dandelion seeds swirling. The soaring blot; a smiling spot in the clear blue sky laughs brightly. What better way to begin this new plan with some fun and games?

"Race you, spirit!" Ku boldly taunts.

"Hey, no fair!" Shumi declares. 

The latter falls into a giggling dash as fallen leaves and twigs crunch underhoof, her glowing form soon vanishing as the former glides over the canopy. Gumo rolls close behind the two in the direction of Tuley’s orchard, leaving Naru smiling and waving from under the lone fruit tree.

And here, Naru takes a breath. A slow, deep, sighing breath as a ripple stirs within her chest.

She stands there for a while, alone. 

She must take a moment, she feels.

She turns her shaded head to where that one location lies. She remembers which direction to look, along with its great importance. That place has become her inner North, in a way; a personal compass.

Another thoughtful breath enters her nose as it swells into a smile of yearning and content. Of appreciation and nostalgia. Of pleasant memories bittersweet.

But she chooses to pay heed to her surroundings; the present; a gift in the forms of the southern wind and birdsong, of rustling leaves and distant laughter, and of hammers on anvils and of copper pots on flames, of industry; of what thrives; of a good, peaceful life. This is her life now, and it is different from the Nibellian; very much different than what she has now in Niwen. 

But with all this goodness and light, what does she feel about it; this changed life; of everything that happened so that she may live here?

Strong, worn yet still tender hands place themselves on her slowly-filling chest. 

The vessel within beats steady in wonderful, newfound stillness.

Like a broken bowl’s cracks sealed with pure, glittering gold, so it resides in deeper strength; in even greater beauty. And while the molten metal burns her whilst she is being rejoined, this is the process; the refinement; the way that all must go through when shattered.

And how worth it, it is. She’s already seeing its first few fruits.

"Thank you," she breathes, her whispers carried by the wind. "Thank you, Ori. For everything.”

“Everything.”

Then, sound silence. Peaceful quiet. Inward stillness.

Save for the training dummies that keep their wordless watches, the field is left empty for the butterflies and grasshoppers.

They would meet at the Spirit Sapling within the cloudless noon hour, or the next. With a delicious picnic, no less.

And, of course, with mended heart.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


_“It is wonderful to see you again, my Grand Firstborn. How have you fared the past week and so?”_

Shumi sweetly smiles and sits next to the Sapling as Ku does, cosily leaning against each other atop soft, sunlit grass. It is a sight to adore, with radiant fur on dark, plush plumage, further surrounded by yadsie flowers and the butterflies fluttering between them.

“Hello there, little Ku. Greetings, Gumon. You both look well.”

Gumo nods and crosses his long legs beside the children, setting down a basket filled with fresh, colourful fruits. He manages a polite though wary smile towards the Will, keeping watchful eyes on the stationary orb. He has learned a lesson on this hill not too long ago and intends to be wise, should anything happen.

“ … Naru.”

“Seir,” she calmly replies, settling herself with another basket.

Icy, icy. Winter has come quite early, it seems.

But this does not discourage them from continuing with their picnic. There are other worse things than being near someone one would rather not break bread with, so to speak. Seir cannot eat in the ways most creatures do, literally lacking jaws; a mouth and whatnot. They are also unable to see the world like how most do, without having a single eye.

What this means, however, is that aside from having an appetite for particular, other things, Seir also looks at things rather differently than most.

“You all have kept us waiting, I say. Eight days too many. But I can see you have been taking good care of my Firstborn. Have you learned plenty? What have you seen?”

Whilst they spoke, Naru quietly opened her basket and took out two bottles, four cups and a jar of worms, the last of which was passed to Shumi. Naru now inwardly bristles underneath a solid mask of mildness, as if a grindstone were harshly running against the spot in the middle of her eyes. She swiftly and easily pinpoints the source of her embittering unease.

 _Their Firstborn?_ Their _Firstborn? Does everyone else get excluded from the equation? This_ Firstborn _was also given a proper name, you insufferable Will. And 'Grand Firstborn' is a stupid, pompous name, anyway._

_And what happened to ‘us’? Did others not contribute? What about Ori? What about --_

The raging tangent halts there. The feverish questions die within. 

Cut off from her mind; cast away like an infected limb. No-one else but Naru knows this.

For as quickly as it began to go mad, an inward compass realigns itself. 

North. Ori.

_… Ori. Right._

They were here for him, not them. A picnic with him, not a picnic with them. 

_Ori. Yeah._

And with that resounding reminder, Naru takes a deep, even-faced breath. Much of the tension unravels and falls from her shoulders like a loose, limp rope. She smiles at Gumo -- genuinely so -- and uses her hands to mimic an opening book. It is a clear, obvious message, one he swiftly heeds.

She would primarily tell Ori. Seir could listen, she supposes. They would learn all about Shumi, anyway, if not through their lips this day. So why stall the inevitable? And why give rise to conflict regarding an issue that isn’t there? Surely, not everything Seir says is an insult; a subtle, cutting remark, riling as they and their words may be. It just isn’t realistic.

Then again, it depends on how one chooses to interpret the words of another. 

Naru, then, will choose an interpretation that pursues and keeps the peace. For everyone. 

Yes, even for Seir.

She begins to tell Ori of what they know thus far. Cups of sweet, chilled juice are poured as anecdotes are joked about, and sun-ripened fruits are bitten into as exciting tales are told. Seir asks occasional questions and they are breezily answered by Naru and Gumo, with several bits and bobs of extra information from Ku. Shumi simply listens in bashful silence from under the spotlight. 

But as Naru finishes the last entry, Shumi makes a sound -- not from her mouth, but rather her belly. Quizzical expressions are raised and turned towards a blushing spirit whose hovering flame swells a bit, likely from the added embarrassment. They also notice that despite a slight growth in the wind around them, the flickering sway of her flame remains gentle; unaffected. 

"Did you not eat, Shumi?" Gumo asks.

A shake of the horned head. "I was helping Ku eat … "

The owlet doesn't deny it with an expression of satisfaction, the evidence scrawled all over her face like red paint splashed on a limestone wall. 

“What? She offered,” drawls Ku in lax defence, then promptly burps, to Naru’s giggles.

Shumi then catches a fruit in one hand, the other already cradling the jar of live worms.

"Eat up, then. What's the point of coming here, if not to eat?" Gumo chuckles. 

Can’t argue with that line of thought. Shumi even nods.

But the horned spirit doesn't bite. This fruit, in particular, looks pristine and shiny; almost gem-like. She goes on to admire its smooth, sapphire form, little “oohs” and “ahhs” escaping from under her breath. Her eyes even dilate with its wondrous blue.

" … Anyway. Right," Seir thusly pulsates. 

The cradled Will goes on to say, "I was about to say, before I was interrupted, thank you for the information and your diligent collection of it. It is good to see her grow and progress into the spirit she is to become, even from a distance.”

_Not like we did it for you, but sure_ , thinks Naru from behind a peaceful smile. The mother’s gaze is still warmly trained upon Ku and Shumi as they continue leaning against each other. 

She gently thumbs the open pages; intimate records of their progress.

 _How far we’ve come,_ she tenderly thinks. _How far we’ve come, indeed._

The golden sphere pauses as she closes the notebook, placing it flat on her kneeling lap. The mother's gaze then drifts down to the sapling that sustains the wordless Will. Leaves are green, twigs springy. Ori's doing alright, looks like.

Seir then glows once more, re-attracting Naru's distracted attention: "I have something to announce to you, Naru. It is related to things that have happened on this hill. Lend me your ears. I won’t say it twice.”

Naru arches an invisible eyebrow but otherwise doesn't move. Gumo and Ku do the same from the side, while Shumi continues to admire the fruit.

"I have had eight days to ponder on the words you last said to me. And I deign to admit that you … made a point.”  
The mother’s expression doesn’t shift, though she tilts her head slightly; a curious admission. The proud Will proceeds to get to the point, at least in their own way.  
“Were it not for Ori and for his love of life, nothing we have today would have ever come to be. Shriek would have dragged Niwen to dust whilst bringing everyone else down with her, and I would not have been rejoined and restored to my rightful place here. I see this now, thanks to you, no less.

"For without his love, or love at all, much as I denied my need for it, I would not have returned and continued in functionality, along with all of Niwen. His love has borne much fruit, and it shall continue to do so for many future generations. Yet, there still is someone I am obligated to thank. Three someones, actually.”

' _Obligated,’_ Naru thinks to herself, nodding; snarking beneath her excellent poker face. Seir continues, oblivious to her thoughts. Ku and Gumo sit up, ears forward. Thick white clouds roll in above them, casting a luxurious spot of shade upon the hill.

"And those someones are the three of you,” Seir continues. “Naru, Gumo and Ku. If it weren't for Naru, who cared for him in Nibel, two whole lands would have fallen to Decay. If it weren’t for Gumo and his resurrection of Naru, Kuro would not have shown mercy in her final moments.”  
  
The Gumon furrows his brow at that, but then nod-shrugs. Seir and Ori likely discussed things. 

“And finally, little, little Ku.”

The owlet looks straight at Seir’s nonexistent eye(s), her pair of amber orange unblinking; unfailing.

“Were it not for little Ku and for her deliverance of Ori to Niwen, this land would not have had a sliver of a chance to regain its Light, which it thankfully did. And perhaps I should also thank Naru and Gumo for taking care of you, little messenger. Thank you for that as well, Naru and Gumo. That is all I have to say.”

And that was all they had to say. Sudden way to end it, but sure. Seir falls silent with that. 

The poured juice cups now perspire with cool moisture. Gumo has nudged Ku and now helps her to drink some whilst looking intently at Naru. Shumi finally bites into her fruit. A big, hefty bite.

Naru has the gall to chuckle. Her belly shakes as she does. Gumo is shocked and he shows it.

She’s laughing at the Will! Seir shows no reaction. Not that they could.

"Was that your version of an apology, Seir? For what happened here a while back?" she then smirks. "There was no need for all those words. Though, it all sounded really nice. Really, it did. Ending was a bit awkward, though.”

“You aren’t angry,” Seir astutely observes. And Naru shrugs with a witty smile while looking at the Sapling.

“Should I be?” the mother asks.

Beside her, Gumo grins wide. Ku continues to drink her juice. Shumi swallows her bite.

" … I now have something else to say,” Seir says, earning more chuckles from Naru, now joined by Gumo. They continue despite it, their pulsations punctuated with eagerness. 

“It is imperative that you know that -- ”

But how suddenly, truly, can things change. 

Like facial expressions. Like fickle weather; illustrated by the thickening clouds above. But that is not what seizes their attention. Seir does not finish their thought because of it, either.

Shumi makes another noise; a sharp _gasp_ as the jar and the bitten fruit tumble to the soft, plush grass. 

Then the next thing everyone knows, her glowing arms throw themselves around a wide-eyed, jolted owlet. Everyone is as bewildered as Ku.  
  
“Wh-what’s gotten into you?” Ku sputters, remnants of juice still in her beak.  
  
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry … !” Shumi muffles, burying her face against the owlet’s plumed neck. “I’m sorry for burning you! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

Ku raises her wings around her. “H-hey -- ” she begins, still stuttering.

But what Shumi says next has her body lock in place.

“You’re _his_ sister; the spirit who I know, though I’ve never seen his face.”

Black feathers brush; barely cradle; almost envelop the spirit’s glow. Shumi continues speaking, her radiant face buried.

“And I am _your_ sister, right? And you are _his_ sister, right? So if I am your sister and you are his sister, then … then he is my brother, too. But I hurt you. My sister! I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

All of Ku falls still. Amber eyes stay ajar, her heart skips a beat. Her beak drops open, too, equally wordless as Naru and Gumo. The latter drops his cup as his juice-filled jaw does the same. He hastily wipes his mouth after realizing.

Seir then speaks for all of them, as all else fails.

“It appears that the Firstborn has begun uncovering some buried memories,” they muse. “How fortuitous, that she remembers little Ku and who she really is. It would have been quite a shame if that memory was lost forever. Ori, no doubt, would have cherished it. And now, she knows her relation to him. Splendid. Splendid, indeed.”

Black wings, in full view, finally wrap around Shumi as Gumo and Naru stand, leaving behind their baskets and pages. They kneel around the children, Gumo grinning as he hugs them, and Naru, with the biggest arms, hugs them last with warm tears; a beaming smile that shames the sun.

_How far we’ve come,_ she thinks.

“I’m sorry, Ku, I really am,” Shumi pleads, still hugging tight. “Please, please say you forgive me. Please?”

_How far we’ve come, indeed._

With her face hidden in warm embraces, Ku simply muffles: “What is there to forgive you for?”

_And yet …_

To which Shumi hugs her even tighter, along with Gumo and Naru as the owlet sobs into their arms.

_… there is still much more in store._

* * *

_"Hey, Gumo ... can I stay out here? Just a little while longer?"_

Gumo looks to the sky after Ku asks her question; the picnic having ended and the baskets packed up and closed. Both are able to observe the thick, looming clouds above, and how the cumulus isn't leaving but are rather colliding with one another, merging with each other. Growing, and greying. About half of the sky is whitewashed now, the other a vanishing, veiling blue.

Ku rubs her soft head against Gumo's leg. "Please?" she gently pleads, looking up at him with round, amber eyes.

He looks down at Ku, who in turn looks toward the Sapling. Gumo sees this, naturally, and also looks toward the Sapling.

_Ah,_ he thinks.

He lowers a nimble hand and strokes the owlet's plush back. His warm smile goes unseen by her as he gives his answer, but that's alright.

"Sure you can, my obsidian star. Just keep your wits about you, alright? The sky is beginning to darken, but I believe you can get yourself home before it rains?"

Though, a little rain never hurt anybody.

Ku softly cooes under Gumo's tender touch, though not looking up at him, seemingly fixated on the Sapling.

"That, I can do," she briskly replies.

Gumo nods, patting her head one more time. "Good, good. Then ... see you home, take care of yourself."

"See you soon. And don't worry. I will."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mood: "I Found" covered by Holly Henry, produced by Amber Run
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EpkpKs5YpSk


	18. Reaching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That which must happen in between seeing and collecting the rewards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ambience: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X4yyAGVekzg

_The first drops fall as the sun sinks under the starless, navy horizon._

It turns out to be a soothing trickle; moderate rain, pitter-pattering thatched roofs with gentle airborne rumbles. The dark clouds above resemble dyed, downy cotton, and hearths and hanging lanterns warm and light up huts and hovels. It is the perfect setting to dream in whilst swaddled in hand-stitched blankets, preferably after a delicious meal surrounded by loved ones.

Of course, falling asleep is optional if one could resist the drowsy lulls. 

But some remain awake for lack of choice regarding matters of the heart.

Two in a certain hut are awake, both unwilling and unable to sleep. And while dinner was filling and delicious, a bowl full of worms gone cold sits on the straw-covered floor. Its lingering existence reveals a single message. It is hard to ignore it as it quietly screams at them.

Thunder rumbles outside as the rain continues to fall.

And Ku has not come home yet.

Naru is blissfully ignorant of these things -- or of anything, for that matter -- as she snores in her sleep. Given what happened earlier today, being buried in the folds of dreamful slumber gave her much, understandable joy. The eyelids of some grow heavy after tasting much emotion.

Shumi now plays with the Moki dolls Grom made whilst Gumo sits by the fire, arms crossed. His brow has been furrowed for the past twenty minutes, and his knee has hopped nonstop for the same duration since the rain started. It feels much longer than that, though.

Time tends to slow when one grows pensive; doubly so when impatient.

“She said it herself,” Gumo murmurs, his tight-lipped mutterings unheard though occasionally seen. “Where is she, then, where is she? We let her stay out, we trusted her, she’s good now, she is, she's good. She promised she’d be back before it rained, she promised. She promised me, she promised.”  
But Gumo pauses at that. His knee stills. Eyes glint; dancing flames.

Brow furrows further. Fingernails dig. Forearms slightly sting.

… did she, really? 

Did she promise anything?

_That, I can do,_ was what she said. 

Can. Could. Not 'would.'

A half-truth. But not the truth.

Gumo mentally slaps himself.

He should have kept his guard up; sniffed that out when it was said. He should have remembered that Ku is smarter; craftier than she lets on at times. Much of him would like to march outside, bring the owlet home and scold her for her double-tongue. Kids should never learn how to present half-lies as truths.

Yet, he knows he shouldn’t see her like this; treat her like how he envisioned. Words he would later regret have already sprung in his mind, and that’s just the words; the actions would deafen. He doesn't want to burn her; brand her; scar her with a fire of a different, more insidious; inward sort. 

That would be cruel. And Gumo doesn’t want to be cruel. He isn't a bad person.

Not on purpose, anyway.

Fingernails dig deeper. More thunder. Eyes droop.

He knows he ought to work on this. He feels terrible just thinking about it. If only he were more like Naru. That would be grand -- to have such peace.

… but now is not the time for that. Ku has to come home, that’s the priority. But he cannot fulfil that himself.

Fortunately, however, someone else is around, awake and most capable.

“Just go to the Sapling and get her?” asks Shumi as a small paper parasol is handed her. “Will she be there? _Is_ she there?"

“Hopefully so,” Gumo gently coaxes, tautly crossing his arms; a polarity. “But if not, ask Seir where she went. They’re the last we know that saw her today.”

The horned spirit nods at that, round ears flopping. Then her eyes brighten and a small smile forms. 

“Should I bring her doll? She's probably freezing. I can heat it up; warm her nice and quick."

Gumo shrugs, unable to tell the difference between bringing or not, much less of either doll. “Don't see why not. Just don’t let it get wet before she gets it, I suppose.”

Shumi nods again, still smiling. “I won’t, I promise. And I can always dry it if it does.”

Gumo nods to that. Manages a smile, but it is quickly dropped. Like the rain.

They stand by the door in silence. A piece of firewood crumbles into dust. Naru smacks her lips, scratches her belly from behind them. A spot of thunder echoes from above.

"Well, get going. And be quick about it. I think the rain's getting worse. See you soon," Gumo says.

"Alright. See you," Shumi waves.

And with that, the door is opened then shut.

The blurred light shrinks in the opaque window set into the round, wooden door. Gumo doesn't leave until the glass goes dark, crossing his arms again the moment it does so.

Gumo's navy brow deeply furrows again, as if taking on the weight of the dark sky. He returns to his ruminations, as he always tends to do. The fire in the hearth turns orange from white. Hm, interesting.

But why?

Why did she lie?

And why did she have to lie to stay out?

A riddle unsolvable self-imposed.


	19. Reaching Pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The blood of the covenant ...

_Raindrops trickle off the edges of a parasol as its well-oiled paper sheets keep its user dry._ Crescent hoofprints are left in the mud, water rushing to fill them, and a flickering light keeps the darkness at bay as it weaves through the trees with a Moki doll.

 _Does anyone know how things like cover from the rain could be so nice?_ she wonders.

Shumi has Gumo to thank for being served that food for thought tonight. The Gumon is such a thoughtful soul, always thinking of how best to lend a hand. Ku is like that, too, except she lends a wing whenever she helps. 

Shumi tilts her head at that as she jogs through the rain, flame bobbing.

_Or does she lend a foot? Talon?_

_… Eh._

She's proud of her sister regardless.

To add to her list of gratitudes, a Snapper jumped out on her trip to the Sapling with drooling, glowing jaws. It took but a moment; two beams of light, yet another minute to cremate its smoking, dimming body. As the raindrops melted the ashes into mush, the surrounding plants prepared for a feast.

She isn’t afraid of Snappers. Not anymore. The fear is nonexistent like her fear of the dark. _Jadah_ Grom, Chef Loudmouth and Teacher Opher have her thanks regarding that and so much more. 

She hugs the doll. Ku’s doll.

Come to think of it, she has little to fear. Yet another thing to be grateful for. 

She has powerful abilities and skilfully uses them in defending herself; and others, in future. But of course, she was made capable of doing so from good lessons from great teachers. And on top of that, with a family full of love, who wouldn’t understand her measure of confidence? So why should a bit of rain stop her from seeking out her beloved sister?

It is with this confidence the first glimmers of gold peek through the weaves of wet foliage. The shrubbery thins as she emerges from the thicket, parasol seemingly glowing with her light. There, in a stone’s throw, sits the Sapling; its occupant seated upon it.

And Shumi isn’t afraid of Seir. Why should she be? 

Seir is Seir. 

Not much else to that. Which is why she giggles when they pose their question. They’re just so weird sometimes.

“Halt! Who approaches?”

Shumi stops, a smile on her face. “It’s just me, Seir. Calm down.” 

“I will not be at ease until I know who I am speaking with. Step forth. Let me see you."

And she obeys, stepping closer to the Sapling as they extend a tendril. Raindrops fall through the wispy extension as the golden appendage gently strokes her head. A light warmth emanates from where she is touched. It’s quite nice.

Then Seir shifts the tendril to a spot behind her ear. Shumi’s eyes dilate as she begins to purr, leaning into their touch. She loves being scratched at that spot. Especially when Mama carries her.

Come to think of it … 

“How did you know?” Shumi asks, eyes closing in bliss as she hugs the doll. “Only Mama and I should know. We didn’t tell you about it.”

“You did not need to tell; of course I would know,” says Seir, matter-of-factly. “If anything, _I_ should know, too. You are my dear Grand Firstborn.”

Like a passing swell of thunder, the purrs fade and cease. Shumi opens her eyes and pouts at those words, just a little. She continues to receive strokes from the Will despite this reaction.

“But if you know _that_ , shouldn’t you also know that I like to be called just Shumi?”

Seir doesn’t answer that question, causing Shumi to right her head. But the Will continues touching her, extending their tendril just a bit. Shumi says nothing, nor does she lean away, but her pout deepens slightly as she squeezes the doll. Her hand on the parasol locks in place; tensing imperceptibly in golden light.

Yet Seir continues in thundery silence. 

Shumi breaks it. She senses she must.

“Everyone calls me Shumi. Gumo and Ku call me Shu, though. And Mama calls me Shu-Shu. Besides, isn’t ‘ _Grand Firstborn_ ’ a mouthful? It’s also … kinda lame, like something you’d hear in a badly-written, predictable story about some chosen one. Sorry.”

For some reason, this is what Seir responds to. 

“But is that name not lovely?” Seir persists, continuing with their gentle strokes. “Grand Firstborn. Does it not sound … awesome? Fear-inspiring?”

Shumi furrows her brow at that, hovering flame growing. She leans back on her leg, rests her weight on it; just out of reach. The tendril stays in place as if registering what just happened. Button eyes stare back; unblinking; unchanging like the doll’s crude smile. 

She does not blink. “But my name is not 'Grand Firstborn’, and I don't wanna be grand, and I don't wanna be scary. I just wanna be my family’s Shumi. That’s enough for me.”

"That's not what fear-inspiring -- "

The extension reaches for her once more. But Shumi takes a step back. Seir continues.

"But you are a Grand Firstborn, and you shall always be my Grand Firstborn,” they insist. “And nothing you say or do will ever change that. You came from me!”

A flash of lightning illuminates the Sapling, followed by an airborne boom. Shumi is not afraid of storms, and she certainly isn’t afraid of Seir. 

Though, she is wary, now. She senses she ought to be.

“You’re so weird. Weirder than my family, and we’re pretty weird. Yikes.”  
  
“ _Than_ your family?” Seir echoes, incredulous. “Am _I_ not part of your family?"

To which she says:

“But how can that be? I’m not Shumi.” 

She hugs the doll close. 

“I’m just ‘Grand Firstborn.'”

Its family, its child; even closer.

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


_She remembers why she’s here, of course._

But hopes are dashed; fears confirmed. A single pathway remains from here.

"Where did she go?" Shumi sighs, placing a fist (and doll) to her hip.

The storm has worsened since they talked; claws of lightning; pelting rain; clapping thunder. Shumi is nearly convinced the parasol would soon break and leak above her. She’s suddenly grateful for the lack of wind. The shaft would have broken a long time ago.

She’s also surprised when Seir answers. Though, something’s different about them. They sound like they’ve lost some kind of game. A big one, at that.

“ … She flew in the direction of the Glades … but after that, I do not know," they say.

Shumi doesn’t believe them at first. But it’s the only lead she has.

She still has one more question and seeing that Seir is strangely agreeable, she might as capitalize on this occasion.

“By the by,” she begins, raising her voice above the thunder. “But what did you two talk about?”

“Nothing."

Shumi raises a brow at that. _Nothing? Really?_

“Then what did she do?” she asks. Correction: two questions.

“She simply sat there … staring at the Sapling. Quiet, like the dead. Said nothing when I spoke.”

Recorrection. Three.

“And when did she leave?”  
  
“Was she even here?” Seir scoffs.

The storm continues to grow. Arcs of light lash the dark. Shumi waits for a real answer.

And they give it.

“When the first drops fell.”

* * *

_Torrents pour from the edges of a parasol as well-oiled paper sheets keep its user dry._ Frowns are left in the sodden muck, raindrops submerging them; slowly drowning them. 

Shumi has much to think about. But the riddle she received is unsolvable.

If what they said is true, that Ku returned the Glades at some point ...

Why did she not come home?

Why stay out in the storm?

The doll is squeezed tighter.

She will get her answers soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... is thicker than the water of the womb.
> 
> But on a more serious note, while writing this chapter, I did research on a heavy topic that must bear personal importance to everyone. 
> 
> My research was centred on child predators and the tactics they use to gain a child's trust. Everything Seir did in this chapter was just several of the most common methods used by such awful people.
> 
> Shumi's handling gives hope, however. 
> 
> A child can be taught simple things, such as who they are, who loves them, and what a person could and could *not* do to them. This is so that they will know what signs to look for -- and especially on what to do -- should they encounter such a person. It also goes without saying that those without children should also be wary and play a helping role once the signs are recognized.
> 
> I won't discuss this in length. The seriousness of this issue speaks for itself, and I'm using this opportunity as a medium to express something all should be aware of.
> 
> But in sum, we should play our roles in our communities in keeping our children safe. Such a statement is sacrosanct.
> 
> And, as always, thank you for reading.


	20. Grasping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The search continues.

_Much can happen within three weeks and five days_ \-- since Ori embraced the light -- including the summer’s first downpour. 

At least this storm is windless despite its lightning and its thunder. A hurricane ravaging a healing land is the last thing anyone needs. 

_She's close,_ thinks Shumi. _I know she is._

_She has to be. She has to._

Especially when someone dear is missing amid these turbulent conditions. But after travelling to and from the Sapling, as well as wandering throughout several portions of the Glades in this bad weather, a spirit would get tired and require respite.

And wisdom dictates that resting for a bit is much better than trudging with lead in one’s legs.

Shumi sits at the canteen’s dim entrance, munching on some bread and jam. The parasol lies open before her feet, moisture dripping and running from its sheets. No one would care if a single loaf and some sweet spread went missing, though sightings of an eggshell flame outdoors would warrant some level of surprise.

Given that a certain head cook takes residence within the hollowed tree. 

Apparently.

His and her brows had equally raised; arched in curious unison. Funny how some things just happen to happen, how things simply come to be. 

And there they were. Simple as that.

Veral also sits by the circular doorway, looking outside and getting breadcrumbs on his beard. Meanwhile, Shumi’s eyes are focused on the feisty, loudmouthed cook who sits across from her. It’s her first time seeing this idle side of him, surprised he had one at all. 

The hardness that normally ripples his features is absent; his expression smooth as river stones. The woolly cook is even smiling to himself, unlike his grit-teeth profile when he’s working the coppers. It's certainly a sight to behold. 

To think that a raging storm is what sedates this thunderous soul.

She’s told him why she’s out tonight, though a snack would be much appreciated. She’s already searched the orchard, the smithy and peered through Opher’s windows; the results obvious. The bearded cook simply nodded, quietly stood and retrieved the food. 

Bread and jam, simple foods; simple gestures.

All most sweet.

Shumi now hugs Ku’s doll to her chest, both facing out of the entrance; their rest. She swallows her bite, cuddles the doll. Then she turns to Veral. 

Her mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Opens twice, nothing either. But then on the third, as the words finally depart:

"Do you like the rain?" she slowly asks.

Veral nods as he chews, gazing above and beyond the hanging network of flickering lanterns. He swallows, takes another slice of jammy wheat from the platter between them, bites into it. He speaks without turning to her.

“Would rainshtorms count?" he asks in reply. “Like this one?”

"I guess."

"Then, shure. I do.”

Shumi looks out into the storm again. Pouts at that answer. Round ears droop.

“But isn’t it too much?” she then asks. “With all the heavy rain and thunder … ?"

The door frame supports Veral as his woolly back settles against it. His polished black orbs mirror talons of lightning that streak across the dark. Bites yet again. Shrugs. 

“For shome, yesh. For othersh, not sho much. It’s alsho with shtorms like theesh that water the land and our cropsh, you know."

Swallows. Doesn't take another slice. Shumi is glad he doesn’t.

He coughs before continuing, "Not to mention, they give us clean water 'longside a free, thorough wash. Washes dust, dirt; whatnot from our homes. Reveals what's pretty and/or otherwise under all that."

“But won’t too much rain also ruin other things? Like … the crops you mentioned? Tuley’s new orchard?"

The cook shrugs again, glances at the platter. Looks back outside. "Too much of anything would ruin anything. But granted … you’re right. Storms can destroy our crops and set back our food reserves and such.”

Shumi pauses at that response. The doll smiles in her embrace.

"So … will this one destroy them?" she asks.

“Likely won’t, not all of them, at least,” he replies, firmly shaking his head. "It'll give 'em a bruisin', though. For absolute certain. But while a few may fall, they'll become food for the ones that do survive the storm. It's efficient, in some way."

Images of the Snapper she dispatched momentarily resurface within her mind's eye. 

“Strange how it all works,” Veral then muses. “How nearly everything fits into their proper place, all to achieve something better than before -- mostly to help life continue. Call it fate, dumb luck, what have you. But you can’t deny its beauty, either way.”

“Like the timing of his arrival in Niwen?”

“ … Wasn’t thinking about that, but … yeah. Would’ve been nicer if he came earlier, though.”

A _crackle-BOOM_ then rips across the pitch-black sky, illuminating the raindrops as dark clouds collide. The window of a nearby hut then fills with orange light. And just above the floods of splashes comes an infant's cry ( _now that’s a set of lungs,_ Veral mutters to himself).

Everything has a proper place. 

Everything has a purpose behind it.

Which reminds her of something.

"Say," Shumi says, ears flopping as she tilts her head. "Why do you live in the canteen, again? Why not a hut? Or a hovel, if you’d like.”

To which Veral merely chuckles. The rumbles dull and soften.

"I'll give you one attempt to guess why I live here. Go on. Guess. I won't laugh. I promise."

Pause. " … Convenience?" 

To which the cook nod-shrugs. 

"Sorta correct,” he says. “Someone needs to protect the precious chordyberry stash, and living in the place of treasure is convenient security, I suppose."

"Your … chordyberry stash?" Shumi asks, brow furrowing further.

He nods, smirking. "Moki can't resist the stuff, and they aren't above break-ins. They may be a docile folk, but once they catch wind of you having those berries -- which they already have, regarding my stash -- they'll travel to the corners of the world just to get them. It's impressive what they're willing to do.

"In fact, the jam you're eating is made from those berries. Tasty, no?"

The spirit looks down at the bread in her hand, the purple syrup smeared on top of it. It dully gleams from the glow of her body, as if an amethyst had melted yet retained its sheen. It sweetly beckons her; an irresistible siren song in the midst of the raging storm.

The woolly cook chuckles when she takes a big bite. Shumi has some vague idea as to why.

She guesses, "My second time eating them, and this time, I'm not dying from them. Couldn't even tell. The taste is so different."

"In a good way, of course?"

She quietly nods, softly smiles. Seems her hunch was right.

"But ... convenience and security aren't the only reasons why I stay here."

He looks outside once more and settles both hands on his belly. He then looks down, rubs crumbs off his beard, resettles on the door frame. His smile continues, content.

“Rather, it’s _because_ of the convenience and the security here that lead me to believe that I have found my place in this world. It’s the lot I have been assigned, and my heart agrees with it. And you know the popular saying. Home … ?”  
  
“Is where the heart is,” Shumi completes.

Veral nods. “Old words, but they ring with truth. In whatever form that truth may take.”

A hum emerges from Shumi, hugging the doll as she finishes her snack. 

“What’s sho speshial ‘bout these berriesh, anyway?” she then asks.  
  
Veral turns to look at her again. Her mouth is stained with purple juice. 

He smiles to himself. Shakes his head. Looks back at the storm like a bear from its cave.

“A whole lot more than you may realize, little one.”

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


_“Thanks for the snack, Mister Veral,” Shumi nods. “But I gotta get going now.”_

“Obviously,” he nods.

With the doll in hand and her belly sated, the parasol is reopened to resume its duty.

“Where will you go now, though?” Veral asks.

“There’s only one place I know that I haven’t gone to yet.”

She doesn’t elaborate further. The cook simply nods. His bushy brows furrow. His bearded mouth pouts.

“She’s a wonderful help to the Glades, flying around to deliver my food,” he says. “Highest number of deliveries, too. Always wanting to lend … a wing? Talon? Whatever.”

“That’s my sister,” Shumi proudly giggles.

“Bring her home, yeah? Help her out?” he reiterates.

And the spirit nods under her parasol.

“I promise to bring her home.”

"Good. Get going, now, before it gets any worse."

He turns to look out of the entrance.

"Rain's starting to blow sideways."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is only one place left to go.
> 
> Do you know where that is?


	21. Reward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For what we may seek ...

_Like the smoking burns of a branding iron, so sears an image in Shumi's young mind. It’s only been a week or so since that happened, after all._

That warm afternoon in the grassy field was graced with wispy mist. The patch she sat on was cushion-soft as Opher smiled upon her. And though she learned of names and why they are important, in the centre of the imprint sits a certain big sister who stirred the lazy winds and threw her first feathers. 

_Six hits,_ Shumi recounts. 

How could she ever let that day slip away; that wondrous moment to fall from prominence? She could never forget, alongside the pride she felt for Ku. It is simply too precious to be stored in some dusty back room. 

Which is why it is so different now; why they are so different now -- the places where those memories were born and are forever born. 

All because she never had been to the training field on a stormy night. Because why would she?

Other than to seek a rogue owlet, of course.

Swirling before the spirit is a darkness as dense as ink, bordered by the faint glow of lanterns and houses. She is a pinprick of bright white that stands at the thick gloom’s edge, marked by the wild fruit tree as its branches whip in the churning winds. Were it not for the shivering blades; glinting icily beneath the lightning, she would have thought the field and its grass had turned into the void.

High exaggeration, of course, for a field just doesn't vanish. But neither does a sister.

Neither; without good reason. 

Shumi wants to learn them, but they aren't at the top of her list. That spot is slotted for returning home where she and Ku can be safe. 

_Where is she?_ Shumi squints, standing behind the fruit tree's trunk. Her knuckles have grown stiff after squeezing the parasol and doll for so long. 

_She's here. She has to be,_ she thinks.

But then a wordless echo suddenly whispers; heard above the tempest.

_But where? Where?_ it says.

Very few things are louder than one's quiet thoughts.

_Why are you sure she's here, again?_ the doubt goes on to scoff.

_She has to be,_ Shumi reasons. _No other place for her to go._

_What about that berry cave? She could be in there._

_It's dangerous to go alone there, and the storm blows south. It'd be hard to fly with the winds going against her._

_But didn't the wind start as you left the canteen?_

_…_

_There's a biiig chunk of time for her to fly over there, even with all the rain._

_…_

There are also very few things that are more persuasive than one's thoughts, doubly so when paired with doubt; triply, when tired and desperate.

But still, there are few. And where few still stand opposed, therein lies hope; always.

Shumi makes her choice. Right here, right now.

_…_ _No,_ she thinks, refusing to believe it. _Ku is a ton of things, but stupid isn't one of them._

_She has to be here._

_She_ is _here._

The whispers that sputter next are snippets of the same, lost arguments. They soon fade away, lost to the gusts of the dark squall.

She may not have all the facts, and she could be utterly wrong. But until that is proven, she shall have faith and she knows it won't be misplaced.

And as if on cue; a timely reward, a flash illuminates the sky. Outlines appear in the rippling field; one tall, one short.

A grin grows despite weary eyes. Her smile matches that of the doll's. Shumi clutches her parasol, takes a deep breath and delves into the field.

_I was right. I was right!_

_She's here. I found her!_

A thunderclap bellows as she breaks into a dash. Hooves splash puddles as her shins brush grass. Every step is eager as each one brings her closer. The folds of the parasol billow with the gusts. 

“Ku! Ku!” Shumi cries, forced to angle her paper shield.

Ku does not respond. Her feathered back is towards the spirit. Perhaps she cannot hear her. The storm is rather loud.

So Shumi runs further, about halfway. She then stops, pauses, waits in the dark. A flash claws at the sky. She reorients herself. She calls out once more. 

“Ku! It's me!” Shumi shouts, her flame the colour of the lightning. She runs in a crouch whilst hugging the doll, keeping it dry, as promised.

The thunder blasts its conviction. Yet the owlet stays put like a boundary marker. She keeps looking forward. Towards the taller figure.

She reaches three-fourths the distance. The tall outline is taller now. Surely Ku would hear her, and the mannequin, if she so chooses to call.

Yet something tells Shumi to stay silent.

Was it the owlet's lack of reaction? Her lack of motion? Her insistence to stay out, in the rain; the storm?

She slows into a jog, ceasing the splashing, falling into an airy tread. Her hoofsteps are silent, the wet grass softer, but the flapping of the parasol maintains her presence. She is here. Shumi is here.

The spirit stalks closer towards them. 

Stops, when her glow reaches both. 

Gasps, at what lies before her.

" … Ku?" she breathes.

Her feathers have ruffled into bristles and briars, sticking out at jarring ends and sharp, pointed angles. The moisture on her plumage captures Shumi's white glow, revealing a shivering, trembling form.

But that is not what draws Shumi's breath; for her smile to vanish, her eyes to droop.

Her grip on the parasol quivers as sheets of rain threaten to break through. Her pupils shrink, tail alert, both raised at what stands limp before them; before Ku.

The taller outline looms.

The victim of two storms.

The mannequin stands in fraying ribbons, its remains like a corpse that hangs from a stake. Talon marks rake across its gutted chest, its dangling arms, its tattered legs, its ruined face. Feathers of obsidian further pincushion its body. A mess of wet straw blankets the ground around it.

And the red that painted its smile and chest now bleed and stain; crude and crimson innards.

_Why … ?_ Shumi thinks, a breath caught in her mouth as if a hook were tugging at her throat.

When the spirit looks down, desperately wanting answers, the owlet has turned to face her. No longer are her eyes the warmth of embers, but rather they burn with shrouds of lightning. Pure white; pure rage smokes from both of her grimacing orbs.

"Kuro?" Shumi whispers, lips trembling as she warily steps back.

The owlet falters under that weighty name. The dark sky fractures with starbursts of white. For a split second in that fleeting instance, those same eyes soften and turn amber again. 

But when the light passes, so does the tenderness; returning to brimstone brow and fiery gaze.

It is strange. So very, very strange.

Her beak is open. Spittle flies out. Her wings are spread. Clearly, she is speaking.

Yet Shumi hears little as a thunderclap condemns them. The fruit tree is struck. Ku thrusts her wings.

Raindrops collide against her shivering flame. The parasol is lowered; now truly a shield.

But what is damp paper against a dagger set on seeking innocent flesh?

Nothing. Nothing.

Like the rising steam.

Lost to the storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... may not be what we get.
> 
> Atmosphere: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vFf-qGxxT18


	22. False Harvest, Fool's Gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While there is a consequence for every action ...

_Gumo often wonders how things would have turned out were he in the Pass the moment it froze over._

Death would have embraced him, of course, but it is an idea that extends into his daydreams. It turns further morbid when trying to picture the sensations, though the thought was easily discarded by other ones or calls to activities. At least, until it resurfaced, which it frequently did -- and still does.

How ironic. Cruelly so. 

That same thought arrests his heart the moment he receives the answer to that question.

The door to the house lies open. Chilling gusts spill in through the maw. They envelop his trembling body. They billow and whistle in his ears. 

His veins clot with frigid ice yet his skin is broiled aflame. Nausea rises in his throat like bile. His lungs gasp as they turn to stone. 

Pupils shrink, unable to close. Silent tears. Numb fingers. Frostbite. 

Frozen in place. Forevermore.

Like the bodies of the Gumon in the Pass. 

Now he knows. The answer is clear.

None of this would have happened if he had just stayed. 

This answer is his judgement; the punishment for his wrongs. And he deserves it, he knows. He deserves to die. Especially when he has done this twice by now.

The storm continues to rage outside with no signs of ceasing. A damning thunderclap -- as if two mountains were colliding -- rocks the foundations of the little house. And at the far end, still blissfully ignorant, Naru stirs in her slumber. Gumo’s heart sinks further as the mother opens her eyes. 

She turns to face him. Eyes half-lidded. Half of a smile. 

She merely blinks at the horned spirit who limply shivers in Gumo’s arms.

Her flame dully sputters like dim moonlight on water. The parasol, splintered at the shaft, is loosely held in a faint fist. It slips, falls from her grasp, clicking open, spinning when it lands. Two clean tears mark its damp, ruined sheets. 

And were it not for the two feathers firmly lodged in the spirit’s shoulders, the cause of the scratches on her chest and arms would have been unknowable. 

But they know better, right? They've always known better.

They’ve always known their little Ku. Their obsidian star.

"Right … " murmurs Naru, still lying on the floor. "This is just … a dream. This isn’t real."

"N-Naru … ? " 

"It's alright, Gumo. I just have to close my eyes, and … it'll all be gone."

Gumo had lain Shumi down, his feet already turned to the exit. With a spindly hand on the doorknob, he can only watch as Naru turns over on her side. The wood in the fireplace crumbles into dust. Embers scatter as she faces the wall.

"Naru!" Gumo pleads. “Help her! She’s hurt … !”

But all he hears is: 

“Goodnight, Gumo and Shu-Shu. Even though you’re not real.”

The Gumon turns to the exit once more, gritting and gnashing his teeth. His other hand raises and claws at his forehead, his brow the weight of the world.

Naru is useless. Shumi cannot be left like this.

But Ku … ! He must find her!

He wills his legs to move, yet they fail to step through the door. Still gripping the handle, he drops to a crouch and begins to breathe faster.

_No no no no no._

_Not-again-not-again-not-again-not-again--_

He turns once more to look at Shumi, only now noticing Ku’s doll is missing. He then looks back outside and stares through the stormy dark, dotted with orange windows and lanterns. The sky flashes white as lightning strikes, followed by the boom of thunder.

It takes every fibre of his quivering being to close the door behind him.

He quickly snatches some bandages and salve and kneels before the spirit. Shumi only whimpers as the feathers are extracted and tossed away. And as Gumo applies the medicine, faint whispers emerge from the far end of the house.

“Why can’t … I sleep?” Naru sobs.

She was never the sort to accommodate anger; adding that stage to that of another.

Shumi, too, begins to cry. 

"I'm sorry," she sniffles. "I'm sorry."

A tearful gaze looks down upon her as she curls up amongst the straw.

"I'm sorry, I’m sorry,” she repeats, hands on her head.

"W-what for?" Gumo murmurs, fearful of the answer.

Shumi doesn’t deserve this. Naru doesn’t deserve this.

Why must they suffer alongside him?

The spirit turns to him, still shivering from her wounds. Crimson blooms through the bandages as translucent rivulets run from her eyes. Her tongue tastes salt as they enter her mouth, round ears drooping like wilting petals.

Four words are all she says.

Four simple words.

"For not being Ori.”

Thus ends the dream, and they are left with the fragments.

The bitter fruitage of their labours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... reactions tend to be immediate.


	23. Ruminations, Realizations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's mostly when after tragedies occur do we take the time to examine ourselves.

_'For what reasons would one have to write a book full of lies?'_

The midnight hour blankets the land with dense, starless folds; long after Shumi returned and was bandaged up by Gumo. Straw as damp as the rained-on grass caresses Naru’s face, with tear-marked cheeks towards the wall as she quietly snores on her side. Thus the Gumon and the spirit remain awake this showery night, with the former unable -- unwanting -- to sleep. 

The flashes fall to flickers; the deluge to a shower. The roaring thunder rumbles now. Gusts instead of gales.

The storm has finally begun to pass. They are now survivors of its wrath.

_Now awaiteth the aftermath_ , Gumo had bitterly conjectured before returning his original thought.

It -- the thought -- was akin to the way smoke clings to one's clothes: lingering in his mind long after a flare of frustration. Ku was asked a question by Opher after suggesting the bestiary was tainted by an error, whose long-dead author possibly miswrote or misunderstood her kind’s ability. That memory, the inquiry, now sits in the forefront seat of his consciousness.

_'For what reasons would one have to write a book full of lies?'_ it echoes.

Gumo had never meant to solve it, of course. Its premise was absurd, as was Ku’s suggestion; furthered by its rhetorical nature: asked to prove some point. Who in their right mind would waste time and effort filling pages with untruths … with the sole intention of deception? It was unthinkable. Highly illogical. Impractical, if anything. Immoral, if one felt strongly about it.

Thus the idea behind this 'book of lies' had been intended to be forgotten. An unanswered daydream that would forever remain as such. Lost within his mind. Harmless and imaginary.

If only they had noticed that one had hid within their perfect garden, though. 

Yet they had known it far too late; only when it reared its ugly head.

But instead of an ancient manuscript retrieved from the depths of a ruin … 

Its pages take the form of a week-old, paperbound notebook. A wolf in sheep’s clothing. 

And they are left to lick their wounds.

It lies in his lap whilst lit by a lantern, opened to the latest; the last entry of eight. His weary eyes glaze over the words as the inscriptions transform before him. They degenerate into worthless shrivels and shapes like worms in a fire. It is as if the penmanship is foreign to him; belonging to someone else, someone he does not know.

That statement carries some measure of bitter truth, however. He certainly is not the same person he was eight days ago; eight entries ago. The same could be said for Naru. She is different, compared to before.

What happened to those people who lived eight entries ago? Did they really live? Truly exist? Or were they illusions whose existence thrived on the paint of ignorant hope they had smeared themselves in?

Gumo knows the answer. Perhaps that’s why they had gotten it so wrong.

They were unable to pen down truths for they themselves had been lies, and they accepted the lies as truths, gobbling it up; hook, line and sinker.

What, then, was the truth that made them so intent on fleeing from it?

Gumo doesn’t want to know the answer to that question. Yet he does.

...

He shakes his head. His senses slowly piece back together like the fallen shards of a mirror. He looks down at the notebook as he hears the rain and smells the wet earth. Conviction wells from within his chest like water rising to form a new spring.

_Not that that matters. Not right now,_ he thinks. He knows what he ought to do to put this book in its place.

The silence of the house is softly torn. The first page of several is ripped out. 

Gumo continues to think as he tears the others from their bindings. Shumi’s ears twitch by the fireplace but otherwise does not react to the sounds. Her doll sits at the far end of the room, its different-coloured eyes unblinking; watching.

A lingering growl of thunder. Gumo grumbles, too. He wonders how they got it so wrong. How they never noticed, despite how faithfully they recorded things. He doesn’t have to look far, though. He lingers on a page. The seventh entry.

**Ku shielded Shumi from a berry!**

**Then Ku laughed. Left her sitting on the messy floor. So much for that.**

**Shumi also laughed. Got up and went for a bath with her.**

**It’s going to be** _**that** _ **kind of sistership. The best kind.**

Naru’s handwriting stares back at him. The recorded moment is sweet, just like her. He then rips it out. Continues for a while. Until he reaches the second entry.

 **Ku** **acknowledged!** **Shumi as her sister again :)**

Gumo inwardly scoffs. He rips it out. But a pattern is beginning to emerge as he finally reaches the first page. 

**Ku asked Veral to let her join the Moki that delivers lunch thru-out the Glades. Veral said yes. Starts tomorrow.**

**Ku was very happy. She’s always happy to help.**

Gumo then realizes how … emotional these are. How some of the added statements were unnecessary in an observation.

He tears it out and places it on a neat pile sitting beside him. He closes the notebook with its remaining pages. A single thought articulates itself in his mind, laughing at the simple error they made.

_Emotions skew objectiveness, and emotions aren't logic._

Naru wasn’t the only one to blame, however. He accepted those emotions as hard fact, too; welcoming them despite his doubts until he was eventually won over. This only led them further away from the truth, with every page, every line, every letter.

Irrational as it was, this notebook -- those pages -- could no longer be allowed to exist. Gumo firmly believes that. It serves no useful purpose other than to lie to them.

It doesn't take long to get a fire going with a certain spirit lying around. They watch as they are ceremoniously tossed into the white pyre, one by one. No more deceptions, no more tricks.

They observe as the last page curls and twists, crumbling into ash as dark as its words; as its worth. Gumo wonders how truths -- like pages in a fire -- could be disfigured beyond recognition.

And looking at the inky ash … he cannot help but think of Ku. This sparks something; another realization as two distant dots connect. They were once far apart to be easily dismissed as unlikely, even impossible. But given the current circumstances, anything is possible.

_Could it be that Ku had been lying this whole time?_

_And would that not, in a sense, make her the true author of the notebook? Though she had neither seen nor touched it? Or did she, when we weren't looking? Did she see it?_

_Does it even matter at this point? What's done has been done._

There is only forward now.

Into reality.


	24. Static

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A week goes by.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's back.

Hidden truths can sometimes be found by observing things that stay the same.

Take for example Veral's precious cache of prized chordyberries. Its size had remained similar in the span of seven days; shocking, considering what happened regarding it. 

The cook had put forth offers to surrender his stash. This would only happen, though, if they would join their hands in a search. But who was this "they?" To whom was this offer extended to?

The moki, actually. 

All of them. 

Yet the mountain of their cravings still sits in Veral's canteen, those delectable amethyst pods remaining behind locked doors. It would also be of note that the key to the lock was thrice extended to the same ones.

They instead had told the cook that their eyes and ears were his to direct across Niwen. No amount of outdoor naps nor berries would satisfy them -- not until their search was over. This naturally raises yet another question.

What were they searching for?

Another thing that did not change was Shumi’s cryptic answers. Curled up in Naru’s embrace, her voice would barely rise above a whisper.

“It’s my fault for not being Ori. That’s why she got mad.”

“And did she say where she would go?” one would ask.

She would shake her head. Shrug. 

The same throughout the week.

The answers speak for themselves, simple as they are.

And as night falls on the seventh day, two moki accompany Veral on a sombre visit. The trio ascends to the house where Gumo sits on the porch, expectant and despondent.

"Nothing," comes Veral's reply. 

Curt, blunt, succinct. That single word descends upon them like a weight. All lower their collective gaze as one of the moki speaks up.

"We've … searched all of Niwen. Twice by now. Combed four directions, then eight. Nada."

"And she couldn't have evaded our numbers," said the other. "So the first search wasn't a fluke."

Gumo’s gaunt gaze remains lowered at that, twirling some grass he had plucked as they relayed the report.

The windless air is warm as crickets begin to sing. The silence grows thicker with each passing second. The question goes unasked but looms like a hanging sword.

Where in the Light did Ku go? 

If she can't be found, then … 

Gumo nods, a dismissing thanks. The moki bow, an understanding surrender. 

But Veral stops them in their tracks as they turn to leave. He observes something in the Gumon.

Gumo's tired, moon-like eyes are distant yet frantic. He has retreated into his personal map room, another, inner dimension, locating points and tying links to each pin. 

They watch as he rises. The grass falls out from his hand, his eyes wide; mad and realizing.

It all comes together. It's crazy, but it's all he's got.

Gumo asks a question. A simple one of five words. 

"Is our boat still there?" 

And with it carries a mote of hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d_HlPboLRL8&ab_channel=iamAURORAVEVO
> 
> Fitting, for obvious reasons.


	25. Impact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Too much in too little time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mood music: "Where We Landed" by SMYL
> 
> https://youtu.be/02VzbPSclAg

_It is easier to answer indirectly to direct questions._

"I'm not going with you, Mama?"

Always easier. 

Always.

A medicine kit equipped with bandages and salves. A large canteen of fresh water. Rations of dried fruit, hard cheese and bread. Handpicked worms in a carriage of a jar.

The dawn sun is framed by a circular window as its light shines upon worn eyes and weathered hands. A rucksack whizzes shut as Naru pulls the drawstring, its contents then clattering as she slings it over her shoulder. 

She slowly turns around. She sees the spirit. She drops to a knee and embraces her child. Shumi grips tufts of soft dark fur as an ethereal sigh is barely heard above the sounds. They rub their foreheads together in front of the open, daunting door.

Clamorous clangs of hammers on anvils. Lilting tunes of oblivious birds. A loud crack snaps from the burning fireplace. The hollow drone of the warm southern wind.

Sounds of industry. Of the world. Of life.

They press on. Of course they do.

A weighted sigh enough to sink a house emerges from Naru. Her fingers gently caress Shumi's soft cheek, the glowing spirit leaning into her tender touch.

"You should stay with Grom for a while," Naru gently murmurs. "Or with Tuley, or Veral. Opher, even."

"But I wanna go with you, Mama," Shumi whispers in protest. "I wanna make sure Ku's safe. I wanna see her."

Naru sighs again. Slower this time. "I know, my Shu-Shu. I know. But don't you know what might happen if you do come? Are you not ... afraid?"

Of the owlet herself? That she might (try to) hurt her again? That the waters might turn hungry and consume them as they travel? Moreover, is not her station in Niwen, to guard the spirit sapling? Is she not supposed to stay?

Yet, her uneven horns tilt; the flame sways. A word; a mere syllable is uttered.

"And?" Shumi asks. Shrugs, too, though intentional.

A tired smile grows on Naru's face; wrinkles at the edges that carry the depth of a gorge. 

Is this compassion? Or presumptuousness? she wonders. Perhaps both, somehow shown with but a word?

Some fall close to their trees, it would seem.

A bit too close for comfort.

The rucksack is set down and Shumi rises from the floor. Naru cradles the spirit close to her chest; to her heart. She lightly pats Shumi's back as she gently rocks herself, softly humming the lullaby she sings every night.

Little does Shumi know, though, it is not she that is being cradled. At least, not this time. Not that she has to know.

A rapping knock then comes on the door. It stirs them from the moment. 

The image slips. 

Naru holds her again.

Mother and daughter turn their eyes to see Gumo, a rucksack on his back and equally weary-eyed. He gives them a nod, quietly approaches, drops to a knee and takes a moment to embrace them. Gumo then reaches for Shumi's patchwork doll. A pair of glowing arms eagerly receive it.

"Keep him safe while we're away, okay?" Gumo manages to smile. "And … we'll bring her back, okay? We'll bring her back and we'll be together again?"

A faint tremor in his tone. Only Naru notices.

An outward promise? Or an assurance to the self?

Shumi droops her ears as they rub her head, earning them some nudges and purrs in return. The corners of her white-pupilled eyes begin to moisten. They notice she is shivering, but only just. 

The doll is squeezed tighter. Shumi sniffs. A lump in her throat is swallowed down.

"Please come back soon," she whispers. "Even with her doll … she must be so lonely. Please bring her back … and come back soon. "

They nod and caress her cheeks as she sniffles. Her eyes then close; as tight as their embrace. The warmth they share gives rise to quiet tears as hot droplets burn salt onto their faces.

Too much in too little time.

For after a month of settling into this new house … 

Some were still searching for a place to call home.

* * *

_The sounds beyond the door invade their ears in tandem with their tears._

Copperware clatter-rattling atop burning, smoking stoves. Sudden, distant peals of ignorant laughter. A drawn-out _crr-aa-aac-ckkk!_ and laborious _thump_ as a nearby tree is felled. The drone of the warm southward wind.

A wordless call to return to the past.

But the noise. There is so much noise. Everything is so loud.

If only everything could quiet. If only life could slow.

If only. For them. 

If only. 

As the last few tears are forced from their eyes, the warm embrace is broken. Gumo is the first to stand, picking up his rucksack once more and slinging it over his shoulder.

"It … it's time," he mutters hoarsely. "We must go now … if we want to catch the tide."

Naru leans forward and presses a long, tender kiss to Shumi's forehead. Her nose touches her hovering white flame and feels nothing but a wonderful warmth.

Shumi can only squeeze her doll as Mama stands and follows Gumo. The mother turns and gives Shumi one last look. One last smile. One last nod.

The door then closes. Footsteps fall away.

Shumi gazes at the door. Hugs her doll. Goes to grab a snack.

Waits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there. Been a while.
> 
> How is the story is progressing so far? Comments would be greatly appreciated.


	26. Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Naru and Gumo make an unavoidable yet welcome visit to a certain faceless friend.
> 
> And please read the notes at the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recommended to play on repeat when reading the second section:
> 
> "Children of the Light" by AURORA
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UM5PyguqqZQ&ab_channel=FrancescoCavaliere

_Several goodbyes. A handful of blessings. A hug, two._

Then they leave. 

There is not much else of importance to expand on asides from their sails filling with Nibel-ward winds.

_Where the destination is again more important than the journey,_ Naru thinks.

_For us, at least._

Little is exchanged save for some rations, but the words are even fewer; inconsequential like their speck of a raft at the mercy of the tides. 

The sun rises higher, reaches its peak and slowly starts to dip. The spot of sunset-glimmering shore they land on is foreign to them.

Soft warm sand accommodates their feet but they are absent to its embrace. Cool water nips at their ankles and heels as the trails they leave are washed and forgotten.

Then they see something. A glow; peeking through the thicket. 

It vanishes upon being spotted before either can confirm it, though.

The travellers share a knowing look. Then they step into the forest.

Nibel embraces them. Home. 

At last.

* * *

  
  
  


_They knew the moment when their earth cradled their vessel. They also knew the reason that spurred their hearts to return._

"So let us not mince words nor waste precious time. She's taken residence in Swallows Nest. Our children report as so."

Naru and Gumo kneel in the embrace of a life-sustaining radiance. An abundance of spirits, young and elder, surround them like blooms; a bioluminescent garden. With the tip of a sickle moon peeking above Mount Horu, the land slowly brightens as evening falls; where constellations appear both on land and in the sky; glittering gemstones in dark fabrics.

But no luminary could rival the glorious blue of Nibel's Light. Their resonant voice is both bright yet ancient as if Day itself were speaking.

"Rise, or make yourself comfortable," Sein says. "You needn't be formal. Not here. You're family."

They stand as wide eyes watch with perked, attentive ears, twitching noses and curling tails. A she-spirit with a bitten left ear lifts a younger he-spirit into her arms. Then several approach and begin to nuzzle and paw at their legs, quietly; lightly mewing with spritely, ethereal echoes.

The urge to smile is irresistible to their lips. They stoop down, pet them and receive in return affectionate purrs. Spirits have always had the penchant for sensing hidden, inward weights; and so would their parents.

Fruits fall close to their trees, after all; sponges in pools of influence.

"We missed you. We all do," Sein says, their voice warm and true. "But we never expected your return to be … "

They pause.

"Laden with tragedy."

Naru and Gumo look up at the Light as each cradle an armful of spirits. They then look at each other and lower their heads. Sorrowful expressions.

They know that too, don't they?

That he won't be coming back.

"There will be time to discuss your tale, but for now there is a much more pressing issue."

Their eyes return to Sein. All of them.

"Her heart resides in the ashes of a nest that has long since gone up in flames. Should she fail to move on from what has been and remain stuck in the past … she shall be absorbed by a darkness that not even a Light could cure; a decay of a different sort."

Another look is shared. A warm breeze curls.

"That bad, huh?" Gumo murmurs.

"How is she now?" Naru then asks. "What is she doing?"

"She's become increasingly territorial and defensive. She even threw a feather at one of our children. She thankfully missed, but whether that was accidental or deliberate, either is still rightfully concerning."

"Asides from that," Sein continues. "Our children report that she rarely leaves that place. She emerges only twice a day and both times are to look for food, though she's begun to seek for more … "

The blue orb pauses again as if the words were resisting to come into being. But they press on. They needed to be said. For her sake.

" … more sizable prey."

Naru's rucksack seems to sink as a lone cricket chirps. She feels like she has brought dead weight. 

"But of course, that is what we merely see; a fragment of the whole," Sein says. "You two are the best equipped to aid her, for you know her — understand her — for who she truly is."

"Yet if we did know her and understand her, why are we here now?" Gumo snarks. 

The feathers on his back bristle upwards as he says that. The spirits in his arms mewl sadly in tandem, their ears drooping; their brows furrowing.

The Light does not answer that. 

" … What can we do, Sein?" Naru asks. "What must be done to help her move on?"

The spirits in her arms contentedly purr. They sense something in her. So does Sein.

"To help her move on and press into the future, she must be freed from the shackles of the past. But nothing in neither the present nor future can alter that which has taken place. Thus if the key cannot be found in either the present or the future, it must lie somewhere in the past. And what does one often do with the past?"

There is only one answer.

"Remember," Naru responds.

"And that is what we urge you to do, Naru and Gumo. To return to the past. To remember."

Lights have no lips, yet they feel as if a warm smile descends upon their shoulders. Their voice is akin to a clear and cloudless dawn with glittering dew.

"Remember why you're alive today. Remember why you raised her. Remember who you were and _are_ now. Help _her_ to see and remember, too. The answer is closer than you might think. You will even come to know why you are here."

Gumo momentarily glances away before he returns his gaze to the Light. He then offers a single nod.

Sein accepts it.

The ivory sickle crests above the distant, smoking mountaintop as the evening rests its starry weight in full upon the forest. Naru and Gumo release the spirits, though some linger and reluctantly pull on their fingers. _They will be back_ , they promise.

The hour has come. They look up at the Light as it shines in the fold of the night.

"Now with all that being said, I believe that it is time. Ku will be returning from her evening hunt, shortly. I trust you know the way back to Swallows Nest?"

But of course. They each give wary nods with pensive hearts.

"And are you ready?" Sein adds.

Naru nods again. Gumo does, too.

Then both could swear they feel a fleeting warmth; a kiss upon their foreheads. The gentle mantle of reassurance swaddles their hearts as if they were infants.

"Then may your path grow brighter after much prolonged darkness. _Nibela-e'chabek._ "

" _E'ch_ _abek!_ " join the spirits.

_Nibela-e'chabek._

_Nibel is with you._

The birthplace of hope itself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How poetic that I post this chapter on a new year. 2020 was crap, to say the utter least.
> 
> But while the planet's revolution around the burning sun does not magically guarantee a better future ... we humans have the unique and profound capability to hope for a better tomorrow. Naru and Gumo found their bit of sorely-needed respite, as I hope we all will, moving forward. And that word yet again: hope. Let us not lose it; rather, nurture it.
> 
> And so I extend the theme of this chapter as we face uncertain days together.
> 
> Ori-e'chabek. Ori is with you, and so hope shall be with you, too.
> 
> Lastly, fun fact, I took "e'chabek" from the Hebrew word לחבק (pronounced 'lechabek') meaning "to hug; embrace." Seemed fitting since Ori's name is also of Hebrew origin, but I'd wager being hugged by a light cat is pretty nice.


End file.
